


meridiem in tenebris

by WrittenByMe_C



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (not really enemies though), Angst, Badass Ginny Weasley, DRACO MALFOY IS A DRAMA QUEEN, Draco Malfoy Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Draco Malfoy Redemption, Draco and Ginny BROTP, Draco is self-aware and self-deprecating, Draco just wants to sleep, Draco's brain is the bad guy, Drama, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Ginny hates that she's nice, Harry Potter just wants some peace, Hurt Draco, Insomnia, Luna Lovegood is an Actual Queen and we all love her don't deny it, Luna knows exactly what she's doing, OC is the bad guy but not really, PTSD, She's just really good at hiding it, Treats deleted movie scene as canon, actually, but he doesn't want it, no one is the bad guy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 54,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22105474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrittenByMe_C/pseuds/WrittenByMe_C
Summary: [Title translation "Glow in the Dark"]Draco Malfoy is sent back to Hogwarts after the war to actually have a seventh year and complete his studies. He's the only Slytherin returning from his year and is convinced that he'll be shunned or kicked out or killed before he can even step onto the Hogwarts Express.With no friends (but when did he ever really have those), no sleep (but that's become the norm), and no motivation, how on earth will he maintain the prestige of the Malfoy family name? (not that he wants it anymore...)And since when did Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood start talking to him?!
Relationships: Luna Lovegood/Draco Malfoy, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 59
Kudos: 219





	1. An Important Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> First few chapters are very dialogue heavy but it gets better I promise, please stick with it lmao
> 
> I have the first six chapters all written out and I'm going to be posting them every three or four weeks so be on the look out for those. Posting this mainly to force myself to continue writing it and not let it be another abandoned project lmao I'm sure many of you can relate.
> 
> Comments & constructive criticism are much appreciated!

“I really don’t see why I have to go back.” 

“You’ll regret it if you don’t.” Narcissa sounded exasperated and it gave Draco pause. The conversation rarely went further than that, but this time Draco decided to push a little bit further.

“Nobody else from my class is, though.” He looked at his mother in the mirror, adjusting his silver tie so that it was a little too tight. No need for comfort when he didn’t deserve it.

“There will be people from other houses that were in your year.” She didn’t look up from the piece of parchment placed delicately over her lap. He didn’t know what she was writing but he was in awe of the fact that she could do so without a hard surface underneath. He assumed magic was involved.

“Did you just give me permission to hang out with a ‘Puff? Or worse yet, Potter?” Although, that didn’t sound so terrible anymore; someone was better than no one.

“Draco.” Narcissa’s voice was a clear warning for his tone. He refrained from rolling his eyes, instead diverting his attention to the cuffs of the jacket he had on. 

“I’m sorry, mother. Truthfully, I don’t mind going back,” Lie, “I just wish I didn’t have to wear this ghastly uniform. If you can even call it that.” He watched his face curl into something awful, a snarl on his lips and petulance in his eyes. The look quickly vanished, replaced by one of guilt that was not helped by his mother’s next words.

“Minerva didn’t want your houses to separate you all.” She sounded tired, as if she had had this conversation a million times over. That wasn’t fair, Draco thought as he recalled a distinct lack of communication over the past five months.

“The younger ones still get to wear their colours. And their robes.” He was guessing, of course. Truly he had no idea what was going to happen come September 1st. He had been too fearful to leave the Manor grounds since the war had ended. His father was locked up in some new type of Azkaban where they had muggle technology and highly trained aurors in place of dementors. His mother was on indefinite house arrest. They were not allowed to receive any mail, including a subscription to the Daily Prophet, and as such they had been left in the dark about much of the wizarding world. He didn’t even know if the castle was ready for students yet.

“The ‘younger ones’ aren’t eighth years who fought in a war. Besides, I think that it suits you.” She wasn’t even looking at him.

“Obviously you do, you’re my mother. Though don’t you think there’s something off about it?” He turned to the side, watching in the mirror as the material moved with his body precisely, rather than flowed like a robe.

“Well, darling, it is muggle attire.”

“What?” Despite the casualness of her voice Draco was sure his mother was joking. There’s no way that this could be allowed; years of tradition, shattered. And for what? Inclusivity?

“Yes, a blazer is a traditional muggle article of clothing.” Narcissa placed the parchment on a tray that a house elf was stood holding. She dismissed Blinky, who left the two blondes alone at once, ever obedient. Draco was sick of it.

“And you’re letting me wear it?” He purposefully did not watch the house elf limp out of the room.

“Your father has some reservations, but he values your education above anything else at the moment.” 

“I know.” He did not mean to say this out loud, but he was not entirely unhappy that he did. His father still managed to have a vice grip on the goings on of the manor, despite being over a hundred miles away. It was command after command coming from Lucius. Not once did he ask Draco how he was. 

“Draco.” Narcissa was stood behind him now, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles in the shoulders of his blazer. What a stupid name. Blazer.   
“What? You have to admit, mother, he has been rather off with me lately. It’s almost as if he’s disappointed in me. For what, I shall never seem to know seeing as I was only doing as he had instructed-” He’d opened this can of worms, he may as well use the bait.

“Draco, you know we’re not to speak of this.” Her voice turned cold once more as she interrupted him, and Draco was reminded that it was not only he who was affected by the events of the past two years. He felt his face pale a bit as he saw the facade in her eyes drop slightly before closing back up. He didn’t want to burden her with this.

He cleared his throat, “Who else am I meant to talk to about it?”

“Perhaps some of your classmates once you return to Hogwarts?” Draco scoffed at the insinuation he’d have friends.

“Yes, because it’s likely that Harry Potter would love to hear all about my experiences with the Dark Lord.” He rolled his eyes and moved to sit in the arm chair his mother had just vacated.

“You never know, darling.” Narcissa followed Draco’s movements in the mirror as he threw the blazer off and slumped into the plush emerald chair. He dropped his head into his hands and sighed. She thought that he had never looked so much like his father.

“In this case mother, I know for certain. He won’t bother to spare one glance in my direction, let alone have a conversation with me. Of course, this is assuming he’s there at all.” Draco would never admit it audibly, but he thought that somehow returning to Hogwarts would be worse if Potter were not there.

“I can’t imagine Minerva would let him do anything else.”

“Still, even if he wanted to talk to me, Weasley and Granger wouldn’t let him.” He must make a note to use their first names upon returning to the castle; it would do him no good to keep enemies when he has no friends.

“Then perhaps someone else? Someone less… Gryffindor?” Draco looked up as his mother sat across from him. It was clear that she was gearing up for a serious conversation, and he felt himself sit up straighter in the armchair.

“So, when you said, ‘other houses’ what you really meant was ‘anyone but a Gryffindor’?” His interest was piqued, that was for sure, but he was never one to turn down picking apart his mother’s words. It was a game they played when he was younger. She would say something, and he would have to work out the true meaning of it. It dawned on him that perhaps she was preparing him for when the Dark Lord returned and once again held power.

She was undeterred, “What about that Ravenclaw girl?” 

“Who, Chang?” He didn’t even know his mother knew of her, and besides, “She was the year above.”

“No, the one who…” She trailed off, a slight frown present on her face. She turned to look out of the window behind them, appeared to be thinking very deeply. Draco did not wish to disturb her, but his curiosity got the better of him.

“Mother?”

“You didn’t know of this, Draco, and this is the only time I will ever say it so listen closely.” Her words were sudden, sharp, and Draco had no choice but to comply. He nodded, leaning toward his mother in anticipation, “There was a girl, taken from the Hogwarts express and brought here during the war. It was just before Christmas, but she escaped with Potter when you failed to identify him.” 

“Who was she?” His stomach had turned to led and dropped to his feet. Clearly, she was a Ravenclaw, but Draco only knew of a few; cared about even less. Although ‘cared’ was a very strong word to be using. Still, his heart pounded.

“I can’t remember her name. I wasn’t allowed to know much, only that her father was printing terrible – albeit true – things about the Dark Lord and that she had to be held here as leverage to get him to stop.”

“Printing? Did he work for the Prophet? How did I not know of this?” Draco’s fear was increased by this knowledge. If the girl was who he thought it could be…

“Not the Prophet, an independent magazine. The Quizzlet or something.”

“…The Quibbler?” His hesitation, quiet voice, the picking at a loose thread, all went unnoticed by his mother who stood up to stare out of the window properly. There was an air to her voice now that told Draco that his mother held more regrets than she let on, and that the imprisonment of this girl was one of them.

“Yes, that’s it. I only saw the girl once, but she was wearing a Ravenclaw scarf. I remember because there was blood on it, the blue and red mixing together to create a purple that contrasted so greatly with her white hair.” At that piece of information, Draco was certain. There were many blonde Ravenclaws, but he had only ever known one to have hair as light as his.

“Luna Lovegood.” He was surprised that his voice didn’t crack, he certainly felt like it should have.

“Excuse me?” His mother had clearly been lost in a world of guilt; land that he was all too familiar with himself. 

“Her name. I know her. I used to… everyone calls her ‘Looney’ because of me.” He rose again, too frustrated now to sit still. Standing in front of the mirror once more, he placed his hands on either side and scrutinised his face, “Crabbe and Goyle tormented her endlessly on my command. I even convinced some of the other Ravenclaws to help hide her belongings. We were ruthless, and for no reason. She was just… different. Oh, and she started hanging around Potter in fifth year which didn’t help matters.”

“Oh, Draco.” Narcissa moved away from the window to once more stand behind him at the mirror.

“Don’t, mother. I know now how terrible I was, there is no need for disappointment.” He held enough of it himself, he didn’t need hers to add to the mix.

“Okay, darling.” It was rare that she listened to him in this manner, and so he took her moving back to the armchair in silence as an invite to ask more questions.

“Why wasn’t I told?” He had too many lines on his face for someone who had only lived for nineteen years.

“They weren’t sure whether you knew her or not. They couldn’t risk it if you had had previously relations with her.” Previous relations, as if he would have risked such a thing when his father was so against it. Draco noted his mother’s phrasing – ‘they’ – she wants to be sure that he knows she played no part in the event.

“Why not just ask? I’m sure Aunt Bella would have found a way to do so without letting me know why. And was Severus aware of the situation? I’m sorry for all the questions, mother, but you must understand my confusion.”

“It’s okay, Draco. You’re correct in thinking that my sister found a way… but I refused to let her do so. It was too intrusive.”

“Legilimency.” His mother was always trying to protect him. She did not know of his ability to resist the spell.

“Precisely. As for Severus, I do not know. Like I said, I was not told much.” He could always count on her to tell him the truth. She is matter-of-fact, but in such a way that still warms you to her; makes you feel comfortable in a house of cold, dark marble.

“What do you know of her time here?” He needed to know what he was facing upon his return to Hogwarts. Will she be yet another person he can’t bear to even hear the name of? 

“Very little. She was treated much better than Ollivander, I know that much. Though the same could be said for literally anyone. That poor man.” She sounded so remorseful. He never knew his mother to have such emotion.

“He didn’t deserve such treatment.” He watched as anger and guilt flared in his eyes once more. He was too tired to put up defenses, and he wondered how many people at Hogwarts would show forgiveness once they saw the turmoil he faced in his own head. Whatever forgiveness they did show would be undeserved.

“I know dear, but there was nothing we could have done.” Draco pushed himself off of the wall, turned away from the mirror. He looked his mother right in the eye as he said, already dreading the answer:

“You say she was treated better, but not to what extent. Mother, will she be able to even be in the same building as me?”

“Draco, you had nothing to do with it-”

“That matters not to someone who Harry Potter is friends with.” He started toward the door, intending to leave with a notion of drama – something that he was well aware he picked up from his father.

“What do you mean by that?” Her question stopped him just as his hand fell on the door handle. Surely, she understood by now? After all these years of his complaints?

“I mean that he’s been poisoning everyone’s minds against me ever since first year and that I’m sure Lovegood was no exception. Couple that with her imprisonment and I’m sure she detests me.” He spat the words out as if they were the draught of living death. He was angry because he knew it was true. Everything that Potter had said about him as true. He was a coward. He was vile, cruel, a villain if ever there was. 

“Oh, darling, I’m sure that’s not true.” Narcissa didn’t sound very convinced, though she also didn’t sound as if she cared very much. Draco secretly hoped that she had merely decided that she had shown enough emotion for the evening and that she was in fact fearful of her sons return to the wizarding school just as much as he.

“How sure?” Draco tested her, and he hates himself for it. She is the only one he can truly trust and yet his mouth insists on trying to destroy this relationship as well.

“Would you like me to work out the math?” A smirk to try and lighten the mood. Narcissa could sense the anger, no, the fear building in her son and she wanted to put out the flame before it took his mind like it did Lucius’.

“This is not a joke, mother. I’m going to be completely friendless, I’m sure. Even if someone wanted to reach out, they wouldn’t dare.”

“And why not?” Her voice was cold again, knowing exactly what her son was about to say and hating the truth behind it.

“Because I’m a Malfoy.” And with that, he left the room.


	2. Trains and Tribulations

The platform was busy. The crowd seemed bigger than it did in previous years which, Draco realised, it was – there was an extra year in attendance, after all. Without his parents, though, the crowd swarmed around him with no care as to how close they came. Draco had partly expected people to stare at him, not come within even one metre of him, but instead they just ignored him. For some reason he thought that to be worse. Draco moved forward, away from the barrier and toward the centre of the platform. He noticed a small pocket of emptiness by the centre pillar and made his way over. Getting closer, he realised why there was some space. People were being polite for the chosen one.

“There’s an extra carriage this year.” Harry’s voice sounded just as it had done four months ago, if not a little raspier. 

“Really?” Upon hearing Granger, Draco had an unusual feeling in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t place it, not having felt it before, but his mind supplied him with images of his aunt’s terrible laughter, Granger’s screams. Was it always this cold on the platform?

“McGonagall told me about it, last week. An extra carriage with three compartments for those returning.”

“Only three? There’s not many of us then.” He was surprised to find the youngest male Weasley on the platform. He had assumed that no Weasley would be back in the public eye until at least Christmas. A loss such as they had experienced was not one easily recovered from.

“They can each fit six people, Ron.” Granger sounded exasperated.

“I know that! Still, with them all full that’s less than half our year. How many Gryffindor’s are coming back, do you know?” He should try eavesdropping more often, it’s proving to be very useful.

“Hermione’s the only girl.”

“Really? Will I have a room to myself?” She seemed both pleased and anxious but without seeing her face he couldn’t tell which emotion was stronger. Not that he cared, obviously.

“Uh, I don’t actually know about sleeping arrangements yet.”

“That’s not really good news, is it? You and McGonagall have been working so closely on this, why would she not have told you?” Of course, Potter was the reason he was being forced to return. Okay, so not forced – but he was definitely not thrilled about it.

“Well, I did overhear her say something to Slughorn and Flitwick about a new wing, perhaps we’re all boarding together?” Oh, Merlin’s Beard, Draco did not like the sound of that.

“I suppose it makes more sense to build a new wing than it does to add to each existing dorm.” Granger, always applying logic to a conversation. He wasn’t going to survive the year if he had to spend it around these three. He might as well pitch himself off the astronomy tower before the welcome feast. Or, perhaps not the astronomy tower. No, definitely not there.

“Wait, does this mean I’ll have to sleep in the same room as Malfoy?” Draco huffed and rolled his eyes. He wasn’t too keen on the idea either, Weasley.

“Ron.”

“What? You can’t tell me you’d be comfortable with it, Harry? After everything-”

“After everything that happened, Draco still threw me that wand. Without him doing that I would be dead, and Tom would have won. I may have been the chosen one, but his action saved the wizarding world.” Harry sounded so sure, and Draco was taken aback. Before he knew what he was doing, he stepped into sight of their little group.

“I never knew you felt that way, Potter.” He drawled, forever putting up a façade of the unbothered heir. Harry looked up as he spoke, his eyes betraying the pain that his voice held back.

“Draco, I wasn’t entirely sure you’d be returning.”

“Likewise.” There was an awkward pause in conversation. Draco was just about to step away, sensing that he wasn’t welcome, when Granger spoke up.

“Would you – Would you like to sit with us on the train, Malf- Draco?” He was once again taken aback by the kindness they were offering but, seeing Weasley’s face simultaneously drain of colour and turn purple, he knew better than to accept the offer.

“Oh, uh. I’m sure you’ll have many others that would much rather do so than I, Granger. Hermione,” She looked shocked that he even knew her first name, “I may stop by later though. I am curious as to who else is returning, and I’m sure they’d want to stop and talk to the three of you.” He didn’t wait for a reply, sauntering the best he could toward the last carriage of the train. This façade, he thought, would have to be dropped soon. He did not carry the energy to pretend anymore.

***

The door to Draco’s compartment slid open. He turned his head from watching the lush British countryside roll past, to the sweet old lady who had always been nice to him even when he was ghastly to her. 

“Anything from the trolley, my dear? Last carriage gets first pick, and I am under strict instructions not to charge you.” She was beaming at him, pride in her eyes. She had clearly been told about the events of the Battle – definitely too old to have participated herself – and he wondered whether the ‘you’ she used was collective or not. 

“I’ll have a quick peruse, if you don’t mind?” She stepped back to let him look at the trolley. He knew what was there, of course, it never changed, but he couldn’t help but make sure he wasn’t missing anything. As his eyes roamed over the mountain of chocolate frogs, the door of the compartment next to him opened and a Neville Longbottom came out. The door remained open as Neville took the few steps required to look at the trolley himself. When he had decided on a few liquorice wands and a cauldron cake, the old woman explained to Neville that he wasn’t required to pay. To Draco’s surprise – and admiration, though he would never admit it - Neville insisted that she take at least half of the money as a tip instead. The old woman was grateful to the point of tears, prompting Neville to rush forward and comfort her. Draco was just about to pick a chocolate from the pile when he heard a sudden exclamation from the compartment Neville had come from.

“Only two Ravenclaws!?” He hates to admit it, but Draco agreed with Hermione’s tone; it was very surprising that only two of the ten Ravenclaws in their year decided to return.

“Four Hufflepuffs, which is surprising.” Draco winced, he had witnessed enough of the arguments between Granger and Weasley to know where this was going.

“What makes you say that? They stayed behind to fight, did they not?”

“Well, I guess-”

“Then it is no surprise that they are also brave enough to return. Bravery is not a trait exclusive to Gryffindor’s, Ronald.” Draco took a chocolate frog and handed the now calm trolley witch two sickles which she took with an exasperated smile. Neville started back to the compartment that held his friends as Draco sat down again in his own.

“Hermione, I didn’t mean anything by it. If anything, I was expecting-” He did not hear the rest of the conversation, Neville having closed the door.

Draco turned the chocolate frog box over in his hand. He opened it slightly and stuck his new wand in the gap, freezing the frog before it could even think about jumping. Opening the box fully, he pulled out the card. Albus Dumbledore stared up at him, same old twinkle in his eye. Draco unfroze the frog and let it hop happily out of the compartment window. He had lost his appetite.

***

“Can I sit? I’ve had enough of their bickering. After everything I thought she would have lightened up a bit, y’know?” Draco looked up from where he had placed his left hand against the window. It was cool against his skin, grounding, but he pulled back as if he had been burned when he realised who was talking.

“She’s probably just nervous, Potter.”

“If I told myself even just a few months ago that I would hear Draco Malfoy defend Hermione Granger…” Draco subconsciously curled in on himself slightly. It was barley noticeable, but Harry uncharacteristically observed how there was more of a curve to his spine than usual.

“I’m not defending her, just stating the most plausible reason.” He sounded tired, so Harry didn’t press. He was past petty arguments anyway.

“If you say so.” Harry sat down opposite Draco, watched as the blonde thoughtlessly picked at the skin around his nails.

“Are there really only two Ravenclaws?” Harry didn’t look surprised at the question, just turned to look out the window as if they were discussing the weather.

“Padma and Terry, yes.” Who in Merlin’s name was Terry? At least the other name he somewhat knew.

“Is that the twin?”

“Padma? Yes, she and her sister attended the Yule Ball with Ron and I.” Draco did not need to know this, but he supposed that maybe Harry wanted to talk about a time before the war. He didn’t blame him.

“Huh. Has her sister returned?” He assumed they were in different houses; it was surprisingly rare for twins to be sorted into the same house.

“No. She’s still grieving over Lavender –”

“The one Weasley dated?” Draco didn’t mean to cut him off. It wasn’t until that day that he had realised how few people he knew in his year group. He wondered if any of his housemates could recall them. Doubt weighed heavy on his mind.

“Yes.”

“She… in the war?”

“Yes.” Draco noticed how short Harry’s answers were becoming. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder:

“Would it be incredibly insensitive to ask how?”

“Yes. But I wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” The words stung, but only because Draco knew they were true, “Greyback. The werewolf, Fenrir Grey-”

“I know who he is.” Merlin, did he know who Greyback was.

“How could I forget?” Harry’s tone betrayed what had been clear to Draco all along. He may have helped, he may be on a tentative path to forgiveness, but he was not yet pardoned of all his crimes.

Time passed with surprising ease. Harry had pulled a copy of The Quibbler out of his jacket pocket, didn’t notice how Draco’s eyes lingered on it. Draco returned his left hand to the window. His palm stung from the cold, mirroring the feeling of the blunt nails of his other hand digging into his leg.

“Who did you attend the ball with?” The question came from nowhere about twenty minuets later. Harry had clearly finished reading the magazine and was now back to trying to bore Draco with seemingly pointless and very mundane conversation.

“Pardon?” He peeled his hand away from his leg. Harry’s eyes watched the movement, but he did not call the taller male out. Draco had never been so thankful for the chosen one’s lack of observational skills.

“The Yule Ball. You must have gone, who was it with?” Ah, back to this topic.

“Oh. That information is so trivial, I can barely remember last week-” Draco knew his attempt at feigning forgetfulness was futile, but he tried his best.

“You don’t want me to know.” Harry titled his head to the side, looking rather like an overgrown puppy.

“Not particularly.” Draco looked away, back out the window to distract himself, but it was pointless. It had become too dark outside; instead of seeing trees and rivers and fields he saw nothing but his own two eyes staring back.

“Why not?”

“It was a dare. One that I’m no longer proud of.” Though, he wasn’t sure he was proud of it at the time either.

“A younger year?”

“Yes.”

“By how much?”

“Just the year below.”

“Well, that’s fine. Neville took Ginny.”

“I know.” He should have once again feigned ignorance, but he already knew there was no point.

“How do you know that? Or rather, why do you remember that?” Draco is glad they never captured Harry during the war; if the Dark Lord didn’t kill him straight away then they surely would have gone mad by all the questions.

“They were friends. Ginny and the girl I went with. Did you never wonder why girl Weasley hates me so?” Why was he engaging Potter in such a conversation? He truly did not want to have this discussion, especially after what he had learnt about the Manor’s guests last Christmas.

“I just assumed it was because you’re a git and call her ‘girl Weasley’.”

“Hah, funny.” It actually sort of was, but Draco would never admit it. He’s starting to realise there’s lots of things he couldn’t admit.

“If you don’t want to tell me, Draco, that’s fine. I can just ask Gin anyway.”

“Whatever.” Silence fell on the two young men again; Draco staring out the window, Harry staring at Draco. It didn’t last long.

“Harry! Harry, where are you?” Speak of the devil and it shall appear, Draco thought bitterly as yet even more people made their way to his compartment.

Harry stood up, poking his head out the door in the direction of the voice, “In here, Gin”

“Thank Merlin. For a second I thought you didn’t-” The youngest Weasley cut herself off as she realised who Harry was sitting with.

“Ginny Weasley.” Draco nodded toward her, folding his hands in his lap and sitting up straight. He was ready for a fight, though he hoped he did not come across as threatening. He did not want to start the fight, just merely be ready if it were to happen. Harry appeared to be thinking much along the same lines, one hand grabbing on to the redhead’s wrist, the other resting over his wand.

“I should hate you.” Her words surprised everyone.

“You don’t?” Draco hated how he relaxed at the realisation.

“I want to.”

“And yet?” There was a pause as Ginny struggled to get her words in order.

“If you hadn’t thrown Harry that wand…” Draco needed to stop this conversation right now.

“Ah. You can still hate me, if you so wish. Though I should warn you, I do enough of that for a whole generation.” Why on earth did he say that? The atmosphere in the compartment shifted to one of intense awkwardness before a serene voice cut through the thick cloud.

“Oh, don’t say that, Draco” He stiffened, and was once again grateful for Harry Potter as he pulled Ginny further into the carriage in order for the blonde girl to enter.

“Luna! I haven’t seen you in months, how are you? How’s your father?” Harry either noticed the change in atmosphere and was trying to diffuse it, or he hadn’t noticed at all. Either was extremely likely. 

“Quite well, Harry, thank you. We rebuilt the house over the summer, you must visit during Christmas! The dirigible plum bush has grown to three times the size it was.” Luna had sat down next to Draco, opposite Ginny, but was leaning over enthusiastically to talk to Harry. Her earrings – were those radishes? – dangled playfully over her shoulders.

“Your home was destroyed? How did I not know this?” Ginny sounded absolutely distraught and Draco felt like he was intruding.

“Oh, when Harry blew up the Erumpent Horn my father kept. It was an accident of course; he needed to escape once my father betrayed him to You-Know-Who.” Draco raised his eyebrows at the matter-of-fact way that this was delivered. He wondered why her father had done this, why Harry had forgiven them so quickly, and was unthinkingly about to ask when Ginny got there first.

“What? Why on earth would your father – oh.” He wouldn’t be surprised if Ginny had given herself whiplash at the speed in which she jerked back. Luna had gone quiet, and it suddenly dawned on Draco what the silence meant. He’s very glad he didn’t ask. The window looked mighty interesting right about now.

Ginny turned to Harry and tried to change the subject, “What on earth are you wearing, by the way? Why aren’t you guys in robes?”

“It’s part of McGonagall’s integration scheme. She wants us to no longer be divided and so those of us returning for eighth year are not to wear our house colours. She also deemed it inappropriate to make adults wear a school uniform, and so she said muggle suits were the only option.” Draco wondered what the girls had to wear, but once again did not voice his question.

“Couldn’t you have worn your own clothes?” Luna’s voice was still so calm, Draco marvelled silently at the strength she was portraying. He didn’t like living in the Manor, he couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would have been like as a prisoner. How she was holding it together at the mention of her time there was beyond him.

“Still too much of a divide.” Harry subtly nodded his head in Draco’s direction, clearly thinking he was too distracted by the window. Ginny looked down at her worn hand-me-down trainers, and then over to Draco’s smart dress shoes.

“Oh, yeah. Good point.” Harry squeezed her hand.

“Have Ron and Hermione stopped arguing yet?”

“Very much so.” A shudder visibly ran down the youngest Weasley’s body and Draco had to supress a smirk as he watched Harrys face pale.

“Oh no.”

“Yeah, that’s partly why I was looking for you. I need some help prying them apart.” Now, that was a visual Draco needed to bleach his brain to un-see.

“Poor Neville is having palpitations” Luna’s voice drifted out once more and assaulted Draco’s ears in the most delicate fashion.

“Jesus Christ, okay. I’ll see you at the feast, Draco”

“Likewise, Potter. Harry. Sorry, old habit.” He shook his head to clear some of fog away, turning to watch the trio leave.

“Eh, I know you’re not saying it to be a git.” Harry stood and made his way out of the door, Ginny quick to follow.

“Weas-. Ginny. I meant what I said. I hope you feel no obligation to forgive me, I wouldn’t blame you if you never could.” Draco was surprised that he managed to speak but was relieved when the ginger girl turned back.

“Which sort of makes me want to more, just to see you squirm.” Her smirk held no real vengeance, but Draco nevertheless felt uncomfortable.

“Right, out! Now! Before you start acting like you’re in fifth year again.” Harry started fussing about Ginny, pulling her from the compartment as she laughed.

“See ya, Malfoy.” He never thought that it would be Ginny Weasley that would bring him some sort of normalcy.

“Good-bye, Weasley.” Draco was once again about to turn to look out the window when he felt the air shift next to him. He looked up just as Luna stood in front of him. 

“Here.” She placed something around his neck and whispered, “To keep away the nargles.”

She skipped out of the compartment just before he uttered a meek “Thanks”, rolling the butterbeer cork between his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this instead of writing Chapter Six lmao help me  
> I've loads of little scenes that I've written/plan to write; if they don't make it into the finished work then I will publish them as cut-scenes I think.   
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed! Comments and criticism are very much welcomed!


	3. Hogwarts

The rest of the train journey was quiet. There were a few noisy first years that came to the extra carriage looking for The Boy Who Lived but they were moved on by Longbottom quite quickly. Draco was surprised that Potter hadn’t come out to meet them, still not convinced that the dark-haired wizard didn’t secretly like the fame. Though, he supposed, it hadn’t been long since the war had ended, and Potter had been on the run for months on end beforehand. 

There was a faint rumbling noise as the train pulled to a stop and Draco quickly realised how far he’d have to walk down the platform, given that they were in the last train carriage. With a small groan, he stood and lifted his bag off the overhead rack. Just as he was bringing it down toward him the door to his compartment opened making him jump and drop his belongings. He looked at his stuff dejectedly, wondering if this was how his life would be from that point on. Someone cleared their throat. Right, the reason he dropped his bag in the first place. He looked up briefly before bending down to collect his belongings from the floor.

“Just use magic,” Ginny said with a flick of her wand. The miscellaneous items that Draco had deemed too important to be left in his trunk picked themselves up and whizzed back into his bag. He looked up from his position on the ground, confused and slightly annoyed that he was down there at all. Ginny rolled her eyes, “Look, I’m only here because Harry had to run off, but he wanted to make sure you had someone to travel up to the castle with.” 

Draco stood slowly and shouldered his bag. He wanted to decline. Say, thank you, but I’d rather not. He wanted to sneer and say he would never want to be seen with a blood traitor like you. He wanted to cry, tears of frustration that these people could be so nice to him when he had been so cruel. He did none of these things. Instead, he nodded, mouth in a thin line. Ginny huffed and rolled her eyes again, turning around and stalking out of the compartment and then the carriage without bothering to check if he followed.

As soon as his feet hit the platform, he felt like a million pairs of eyes were watching him. He’d never felt more uncomfortable in his life. Not even when the Dark Lord had wrapped his arms around him (because how could he have been uncomfortable when he was fearing for his life?). A heavy groan to the left of him jolted him out of his thoughts.

“Seriously, Gin?” Ronald Weasley tilted his head up to the sky and muttered something under his breath, “That git is what you went back for?”

Draco started to sneer at the redhead, but he quickly schooled his features, “If my being here is an offence to you, Weasley, then I truly don’t mind leaving.”

“Well then, if you don’t mind,” Ron said with a sarcastic smile. Stood next to him, Hermione looked to be having a war within herself. She took a deep breath, opened her mouth to say something, then quickly closed it again. Just as Draco was ready to turn away, she spoke up.

“Look, Draco,” she paused, clearly thinking of her next words carefully, “Ronald here, and I for that matter, are not too comfortable with you around. Quite frankly, I don’t think anyone is. But you proved yourself in the – the war. You became an example for change. We don’t wish to be your friends. We do, however, hope that you can remain civil. It’s not much that we ask for.”

“You overestimate my ability to care, Hermione. I’m not about to start a fight. Weasley doesn’t bother me – I meant what I said. I don’t mind leaving.” Draco watched as Hermione realised how pointless her absurdly formal speech was. She thought she knew best how to handle the situation because she thought she knew how he would react. He was getting pretty tired of surprising people. Perhaps he should be cruel again; but it just took so much energy that he didn’t have anymore. 

“Get lost then.” Ron stated bluntly. Ginny hit her brother in the arm and whispered something in his ear. “Really? Why is he like this? Bloody hell. Fine. Malfoy gets to stay. But only because Harry said so.”

Draco turned to follow them as they walked down the platform. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the fact that Weasley was still so intent on following Potter’s orders. He thought they would have grown out of that dynamic by now. 

There were still an awful lot of people on the platform. Draco briefly wondered why but didn’t think much of it until a red-faced Neville Longbottom was stopping their little group. He was out of breath, clearly having run from somewhere. 

“Guys. It’s – it’s worse than we thought,” Draco didn’t bother asking what he was on about; his ears suddenly picking up the screaming sobs coming from the direction of the carriages that take the students up to the castle, “We need your help. I know you think you can’t see them but its worth a shot. At least you know what to expect.” 

With that, Ron and Hermione were running back with Neville in the direction that he had just come from. Students parted for them like the red sea in that Holy muggle book.

Ginny turned to Draco, “Can you see them?”

“I presume you mean the Thestrals?” He couldn’t think of what else. Fear settled in his stomach as Ginny nodded decisively and turned into the crowd. He followed after her at the same quick pace – not wanting to be stranded among the younger years – and soon found the source of the build-up of students.

At the gates of the platform students were being made to wait and then taken in small groups to the carriages by different professors. He saw Slughorn pretending to be helpful, Sprout and Hagrid attempting to calm the more impatient students, and then McGonagall herself walking students toward a smaller group of people closer to the carriages. She appeared to be explaining something as she went. 

“Second through to fifth years should be allowed to pass through just fine. They didn’t fight in the war.” Hermione’s voice carried over to him and Ginny as they made their way toward the smaller group.

McGonagall levelled her with a stern look, “Miss Granger, as I have said countless times before there is no way for us to organise these students like that. In an ideal world we would not be doing this at all. Now, take these students round to the front of the carriage please, they have all been briefed.” 

As she turned around to head back toward the platform, McGonagall caught his eye. She smiled tightly at him, clearly stressed. He tried to pull his eyes away, but something stopped him. Something made him speak.

“Professor. Headmistress. I can help,” She seemingly paused, despite not having yet moved, “I can help explain to the students. I can – I can see them.”

“How long?” She started to walk toward the platform again and he turned to follow her with quick steps. While her tone was curt, he could tell that she was sad that yet another one of her students had witnessed death.

“Since the end of fifth year.” She didn’t need to ask how. Death Eater initiation had become public knowledge since the end of the war. McGonagall nodded her head briskly as they stopped in front of the next group.

“Mr Malfoy here will be explaining to you what is happening. Listen to him carefully to avoid any unwanted reactions. You may go.” She turned to Slughorn to berate him as Draco looked at the group of what seemed to be third years that he had been assigned. Two of them looked at him with fear, one sneered at him, the remaining three just looked bored.

“Follow me, I guess,” He said, leading them toward the carriages, “so, I don’t know how into magical creatures you are, but the carriages are drawn by Thestrals-”  
“The death horses? Why should we care about that?” The sneering student interrupted him, and he took a deep breath so as to not snap back at the young boy.  
“You look too young to have fought in the war – to have seen death up close – but as a precaution, we must warn students about what they might see when they arrive at the carriages,” He was guessing, seeing as nobody had actually explained to him what was going on, “They’re not the most beautiful looking creatures, and when you know what they are they become ten times more horrifying. Personally, I think they have a gothic sort of beauty about them, but I’ve been used to seeing them for a while. Many witches and wizards recall being thrown back to the moment they witnessed death upon laying eyes on the creatures. It can be very traumatic, and we want the return to Hogwarts to be as seamless as possible.”

The student rolled his eyes. The boy’s friends looked even more fearful now, but this time it was with a look toward the carriages and not Draco. He handed them off to Ginny and returned to the platform, passing McGonagall on the way. The students at the gate were still loud and impatient, and Draco sighed. It was going to be a long time before he saw the castle at this rate.

**

Draco sat down in the carriage with a thud. He was exhausted. His suit jacket was removed and folded neatly in his bag which sat behind his legs under the bench. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, his (now red) dark mark on show. An ugly scar for an ugly soul and an ugly point in history, he thought bitterly. He didn’t want to be showing it like this, but no one was around, and he was sweating from walking back and forth for the past hour. He looked up as Potter and his gang were making their way over to the carriage after receiving thanks from the professors. Draco rolled down his sleeves as they stepped in. There was one too many of them but that didn’t seem to deter them. Ginny and Harry sat beside Draco, and Ron, Hermione, Neville and Luna sat squashed together across from them. He wondered where the open carriages from the fifth year had gone. Perhaps these ones had a roof so that they could be enchanted for safety.

“I can’t believe how many people could see them,” Ginny said with hurt and disbelief in her eyes.

“I can’t believe how many remembered. Didn’t you say that was rare, Luna?” Harry replied with an even gloomier expression. Luna didn’t appear to be listening and Draco was hoping that was the end of the conversation. Unfortunately, as the carriage pulled off, Hermione started to talk about how she didn’t think she would be able to see the death horses.

“- what’s worse is that I don’t even know who it was. I can’t honour them properly because I just don’t know.” She was almost sobbing, and Draco was amazed at how she could make someone else’s death about her. He rolled his eyes shut and leant his head against the back of the carriage. He could feel a pair of eyes on him; they had been watching him for the entire journey so far. He wanted to snap at her – why are you looking at me, Looney? – but refrained from doing so; he was too tired to start an argument.

Draco shot upright, his eyes snapping open, as he felt something graze his chest. The carriage went quiet as everyone in it stared at Luna, who had reached forward. Her hand was delicately touching the necklace she had placed around Draco’s neck at the beginning of the train ride. She smiled softly as she looked up, meeting his gaze. He let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding and visibly relaxed at the lack of threat. Luna sat back, looking satisfied. Harry coughed awkwardly and started to ask Neville about his summer. Neville looked confused, and it dawned on Draco that Harry already knew about what the nervous Gryffindor had done the past few months. Why was Potter trying to help him?

The conversation moved on and Draco leaned his head back against the carriage again. He didn’t even notice that he had brought his hand up to hold on to the little corkscrew charm. 

**

The castle looked the same as it did in sixth year, and it made Draco’s stomach churn. Whoever had helped restore the castle had done an amazing job. It truly looked no different at all. The entranceway was just as grand as ever, the multiple knight statues that had come to life in the battle were at attention in their alcoves once more. He entered the Great Hall, noting that somehow the staff had arrived before them, and quickly stopped dead in his tracks. He did not know where to sit. He assumed that he would sit at the Slytherin table, but it was made known quite quickly that that would not be the case. Because there didn’t appear to be a Slytherin table anymore. Students from every house were scattered about the hall, intermingled. Never before had he seen such a thing. Even during casual meals, the houses still largely stayed on their own tables. How would the sorting work? His initial reaction shocked him, not realising that he cared so much about the tradition. 

“Oh, I completely forgot to tell you,” Harry’s voice came from beside him, “We can sit wherever we want.” Draco nodded and made to move toward an empty, considerably secluded, space at the back of what once was the Slytherin table. He was stopped by Harry’s voice, again speaking to him, “Draco. We actually – uh. Not yet?” He didn’t seem sure, “Well, McGonagall wants us up front first. The returning students. To explain why we’re there. The school needs to know, uh, who we are.”  
Draco stared at Harry, not quite believing him. Still, he followed the boy who lived up to the head table and stood with his classmates as the first years trickled in. McGonagall stood from her place at the head table and tapped her glass. The noise in the hall silenced immediately.

“A quick announcement before the sorting. This year, things will be slightly different. We have some returning seventh years who helped so bravely to fight in the war-” a surprisingly deafening cheer rippled its way across the students. Draco stepped back slightly, hid behind the two Ravenclaws. He did not deserve the applause. 

McGonagall smiled before tapping her glass once more, “As such, these now eighth-year students will be living and learning here just like you. I know many of you know their names, see them as celebrities, but I must ask you to regard them as your equals. They are still human. There has been an extension to the dungeon to allow for mixed boarding for the eighth years. This extension is strictly off-limits to anyone else barring faculty. In addition to this, the eighth years will be joining seventh years in their classes, meaning that there will be slightly larger class sizes. Do not let this distract you from your work; end of year exams will be going ahead as planned, no matter what. Mr Potter’s shenanigans will no longer save you from an education.” A laugh erupted from the crowd, along with a few groans.

“You were instructed via post,” McGonagall continued, “that house separation will no longer be in effect within the walls of the great hall. Dormitories and quidditch teams are still house-dependent. Finally, to our first-year students, once you have been assigned your house, you shall stand with your prefects,” she waved toward the teens standing at the end of each table, “and once the sorting has finished you are free to sit wherever. With that, I shall leave you in the hands of the sorting hat, and the words of a wise man- “Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment, and Tweak”!”

Polite applause, intermingled with some raucous cheering, flittered through the hall. Harry and the other eighth years moved toward their desired seats and Draco stiffly followed them. Separating from the group, he made his way toward the seat he had spotted earlier, moving along the edge of the room.   
The sorting was surprisingly quick and soon enough the great hall was full of chatter and the sound of knives and forks scraping plates. Draco didn’t eat much, but he did make sure to wrap some bread and cheese in some napkins for when he inevitably woke up in the middle of the night. He pondered the sleeping arrangements as he ate. He was glad that he would be in the dungeons still. It was a familiar place to him, and he knew that it would help his transition back into daily Hogwarts life. The dungeons also explained why nothing seemed out of place about the actual building. He was expecting renovations – perhaps a removal of the dastardly changing staircases – and when he realised there were none he was thrown for a loop. To now know that there had been changes, just ones not visible on the outside… he felt a connection to the castle like never before.

He was the first to leave the great hall once the welcome feast was over. He made his way down to the dungeons quickly, knowing all the shortcuts. He paused outside the Slytherin common room, realising that the new dormitory would probably be just as dark as the potion’s classrooms without the lake above it. He sighed, accepting that something was better than nothing, and moved forward. Where the wall used to stop at the end of the corridor, there now was a large oak door. A small painting of a locksmith hung on the wall beside it. He stared at it and realised he didn’t know the password.

“Uhh… hello.” He felt stupid. The locksmith grunted and asked for his name. When he gave it – stuttering, not as proud as he once was – there was a click from the door, and it swung open swiftly. Draco nodded thanks to the portrait and stepped inside.

There was a flurry of colours within the room. It almost hurt to look at but somehow it worked. The green and silver of Slytherin were mingled with the blue and bronze of Ravenclaw; it looked regal and reminded Draco of the Fabergé eggs that his mother collected when he was young. The red, gold, yellow, and brown of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff gave the common room a homely feel that Draco was unaccustomed to. He sighed in relief when he realised that the new addition to the castle was still below the lake. Although, it appeared as though it was at the edge of the lake rather than directly below it. To the left of the oak door was an archway that Draco assumed would lead to the dorms. He looked around the common room, noting how half of the walls were glass. The wall with the oak door was built to be one giant bookcase, and the wall with the archway had paintings of each of the founding wizards and witches. Salazar Slytherin looked down his nose at Draco but had a slight glint in his painted eye that betrayed pride. Draco felt like he did not deserve it.

A few feet in front of the door, parallel to the wall of portraits, was a relatively long table with eight chairs around it. It was a rich oak, to match the door, and the chairs seemed comfortable enough. He turned to his right and stepped further into the room. There were three sofas surrounding a fireplace on the glass wall to the right of the bookcase. He stared at the burning fire and marvelled at how complex the magic appeared to be when he knew it to be a simple rework of Incendio. There was a curtain to the left of the seating area. Draco found this odd and assumed there was some sort of private seating behind it. He wandered over to find out, parting the green and bronze fabric to reveal a semi-circular room. The glass walls stretched up to the ceiling, a clear dome. The moonlight coming through the ceiling was ethereal and made the whole space feel lighter. As he brought his eyes down, he vaguely took note of the bay-seating along the glass but they were being drawn to something else.

Within the centre of the space stood a pedestal with three items magically encased on the top. A broken wand, a cracked stone, and a scrap of fabric. He didn’t need to read the small inscription to know what he was looking at; the deathly hallows, two of which were broken beyond repair. Upon close inspection, he saw that the pedestal itself had just under one hundred names etched into it. Again, who knew whose names they were without having to look too closely. He exited the small space quickly, with a flourish of the curtains, and headed toward where he assumed the dorms were.

Draco was right about the dormitories. Upon walking through the short hallway, he found the girl’s room to the right, the bathroom at the end, and the boy’s room to the left. He wandered into the boy’s room, not knowing what to expect.

The colours were the same as in the common room, but it was the layout of the beds and the lack of windows that caught his attention the most. The lack of windows was made up for by the two large lights hanging from the ceiling, as well as individual candles above each bed. The beds were not four-poster as they had been in his previous dorm, but rather just simple cots. They still looked rather splendid, and he knows that the minimal approach was probably due to budgetary restrictions; after all, they had just needed to rebuild almost the entire castle and magic can only go so far. There were four beds on the wall opposite the door with three bedside tables between them in total. To the right of the door were two more beds, again with a shared bedside table. To the left, behind the door when it is open, was another bed – this one facing toward the door itself rather than into the room. Draco quickly chose this solitary bed to be his own and his trunk appeared underneath it as he sat down.

Almost as soon as he had settled in, he heard the oak door of the common room open and voices filled the room. He quickly changed into his sleepwear as the others explored the common room. By the time Potter and his friends came into the dorm room, Draco’s back was turned to them and he was pretending to be asleep.


	4. A Riddle Wrapped in a Mystery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco receives a letter from his mother and a visit from the past.

Draco woke up to Crabbe’s face being engulfed by flames and the sound of his heart thumping in his ears. He sighed as he sat up slowly, wondering what time it was. The last thing he remembered was Ernie Macmillan throwing a toy quaffle at Longbottom’s head for some reason, but they were all asleep now. Draco swung his legs to the ground, the wooden floor surprisingly warm on the bottom of his feet. He pulled his trunk out as quietly as possible. He unlocked the ornate trunk with his wand and started to search for his slippers. He found them under a brown paper package – a package he didn’t recognise. Draco tucked it under his arm and left the room.

Out in the common room, one of the castle’s elves was cleaning the fireplace. She looked up briefly as he set the package on the table but continued with her work quietly, not caring for the disturbance. Draco admittedly found this odd as the house-elves back in the Manor were constantly running around his feet trying to do everything for him. He sat down at the table and waved his wand over the package to reveal any curses it may have possessed. Nothing immediately jumped out at him, but he knew that sometimes the spell didn’t detect everything. Still, he peeled back the spell-o-tape with little thought to whether the brown paper concealed a threat.

The paper fell back surprisingly easily to reveal a few smaller parcels wrapped in green tissue paper. Sat on top of the parcels was a letter bearing his name in a familiar feminine scrawl. He placed it to the side and picked up the smallest parcel. It crinkled slightly in his hand as he lifted it. There was a small, clear pouch inside and within it he could see over thirty seeds, not much bigger than those of an apple. The pouch was warm in his hand and gave off a lavender scent that told him it was charmed to be kept safe. The seeds must be important; he was sure the letter would explain them. He set the pouch aside and picked up the biggest parcel, noting that it rattled as he moved it. He removed the tissue paper to a box of bright colours. Bertie Botts. He smiled as he put the box back down; he appreciated the gesture.

The tissue of the final parcel ripped as it opened, telling Draco that it had been wrapped by hand rather than magic like the others. A ring box fell into the palm of his hand and his heart stuttered. Surely his parents weren’t expecting that of him. He understood that it was Malfoy tradition to be betrothed in the final year of schooling to secure the bloodline as quickly as possible. But after everything that had taken place… he thought that this would be a tradition they would drop. He sighed and did not bother to open the box. Instead, he peeled open the letter.

My Dearest Draco,

I suspect that by now you have opened the parcels – you always did open your presents first. Before I explain the contents, I would just like to tell you how proud I am of you. I know you don’t want to hear it, that you think you are not worthy of it, but after everything that you have been through… it warms my heart to see you wanting to become a better person than your father. Do not get me wrong, my boy, I love your father very much. But he let his ambition get in the way of family and as a result, he almost lost us everything. Still, you will do well to remember the fundamental lessons we have taught you: alliances before allegiances. Keep your friends close Draco, we have no time for enemies now.

Moving on, it is imperative that you follow my instructions for the contents of the parcels, Draco. The seeds are very, very, important. They are a rare species of plant – the name of which I’m afraid I cannot remember –and they will help you. You must place one seed in a vase with exactly an inch of water. Put in on your bedside table dear, as quickly as possible. It only grows at night, feeding off of any nightmarish thoughts a person nearby may be having. It allows that person to sleep soundly and protects them from the darkness. It is imperative that you replace the flower each week, Draco. It doesn’t just feed off of the nearest person, it also projects those thoughts to the most vulnerable. These projections only start at around eight days of growth so, please, remember to keep swapping them. After a week with you, my dear… well, I’m afraid that your dorm mates would suffer. I do hope you use the seeds, darling.

The second item that you would have seen (oh I do hope I know you well enough that you have opened them in the order I am expecting), is a box of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans. I had a house-elf fetch me some from Diagon Alley so that I could continue our tradition. I remember how excited you were, back in first year, when you wrote home thanking me for the treats that I had hidden away for you.

Finally, there is a ring box. Do not be alarmed, my darling – despite tradition, we are not expecting you to find a wife. The ring in the box is the one you used to wear, before fifth year. You had thrown it away after…well, after. You know all of this; I do not know why I am reiterating. I had one of the house-elves clean it up and restore it to how it was before even you were in possession. Keep it safe, Draco. You do not need to wear it but know that it is there. Know that you deserve it.

You are loved,

Mother x

Draco’s eyes stung but he refused to let his tears fall. He sniffed and cleared his throat as he reached for the ring box. The silver band glistened and the inset snake seemed to writhe in anticipation. He slipped it onto the ring finger of his right hand, left the package on the table, and walked over to the elf who was still cleaning the fireplace.

“Excuse me,” Draco tried to make it known that he was there so that the elf was not scared but all the same she jumped about a foot in the air and hit her head on the mantle. Draco swore under his breath, but the elf did not react to any pain she must have been feeling. She turned to him and took in a deep breath.

“Dinkly must make it known that she is working, mister, but she will be happy to assist in any way possible right away.” The elf – Dinkly –bowed her body almost in half and stared up at him with wide eyes waiting for his command.

“No, no, you can keep cleaning, I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble for falling behind,” Dinkly blinked slowly at him but nodded her head and continued sweeping the floor in front of the fire. Draco shuffled his feet, “I was wondering whether or not you could find a vase of some sort for me. It doesn’t need to be too big, even just a glass will do.”

The elf nodded her head, ears flapping in all directions, “When would mister like the glass? We are very busy in the kitchen during the day, and very busy cleaning the rooms at night.”

“Whenever is –” Draco cut himself off, “Hang on. When do you sleep? When do you eat?”

Dinkly shrugged, her cloth falling off her shoulder slightly, “We eat and sleep whenever we can. Sometimes we take shifts. It’s not bad, do not worry, mister.”

Draco shook his head, “It might not be bad, but it surely isn’t good. Of course, I don’t wish to cross any boundaries – I know how traditional house-elves can be – but if there is anyone I can speak to, anything I can do...”

Turning away, Dinkly conjured a dustpan to sweep the soot into, “Make your bed,” there was a tad bit of humour to her voice, but he could tell she was becoming emotional at his show of compassion, “your vase will be with your plate in the morning.” With that, she snapped her fingers and disappeared.

“Huh,” Ginny Weasley’s voice came from the memorial area of the room. Draco’s eyes shot to her quickly, not knowing what to expect. She was in her pyjamas and her hair was about as neat as Potter’s, but he could tell that she had been awake for a while; before him, even, “Who knew you could be kind; and to a house-elf of all things?”

Draco quickly looked toward the package he had left on the table and resealed it from across the room with a subtle flick of his hand. Ginny let the curtain fall closed behind her and she stepped over the back of one of the sofas to flop down on it. She raised an eyebrow at Draco’s hand and let out a low whistle.

“Wand-less magic? Even Hermione can’t do that.” She genuinely sounded impressed and was clearly settling in for a conversation. She might have been a Weasley, but Draco was raised right (excluding all the dark magic and death eater business), and so he sat down on the sofa opposite her.

“I had to learn quickly, it-”

“It’s not something easy to learn though,” Ginny cut him off, clearly not letting him get away with trying to be humble for once, “Look, I agree with my brother – you’re an arrogant sod – but wand-less magic? Of all the things you brag about, that is what you leave out?”

“The circumstances in which I found out I possessed the skill were not ideal.” He stated curtly. He didn’t want to turn hostile, but they were rapidly approaching a topic that he very much wanted to avoid. Ginny seemed to get the message.

“It was nonverbal as well. I hate to admit it, Malfoy, but... oh God, it looked cool. I don’t want any fights to start but please do that in front of my brother. Oh man, I’d love to see his face.” She had a glint to her eye that for anyone else would probably be unnerving, but Draco was used to such as sight from his fellow housemates.

“You’d have made an alright Slytherin, y’know,” Draco knew it wasn’t the right thing to say before the words had even finished leaving his mouth. Ginny sat up straighter, moved her feet to rest on the floor instead of tucked under her as they just were, “I didn’t mean – it’s not that bad. I meant it as a... a compliment, I guess. I would never use my own house as an insult.” He didn’t seem to be helping himself.

“I’m going to bed,” She stood up calmly and headed toward the oak doors. Just as she was about to walk through them, she turned back to him, “I’d keep that letter somewhere safe, if I were you. My brother doesn’t trust you, and I wouldn’t put it past him to look through your stuff to try and prove you’re still the ‘bad guy’. Goodnight, Malfoy.”

Draco stared into the fire for a long time, a headache starting to form behind his eyes, until Susan Bones came out of the girl’s room. He heard the water of the shower running and guessed it must have been about six-thirty in the morning. He walked back into his own room, collecting his package on the way.

He made his bed and started to change into his new uniform. He undid his pyjama shirt and was about to slip it off when he felt something in the air shift. Looking to his left, Draco saw Terry Boot watching him with sleepy but curious eyes. For a second, he thought Boot is gay? Until he saw where the Ravenclaws eyes were focused. Draco turned so that his arm was hidden from view. He heard a huff but no movement to indicate that Boot had turned around.

In what Draco hoped was a stern voice, similar to how he used to speak, he said, “Turn away. You have no right to stare.” In reality, it came out shaky and vulnerable, but he held his ground and did not continue to get dressed until his ears were greeted with the sound of Boot rolling over to face the other wall.

***

Just as always, the Great Hall was packed full of students hurriedly eating breakfast before finding their way to their first lesson of the year. Draco sat in the same place he had the night before, thankful that the space was free. He had come to enjoy routines over the summer.

As he sat down, the plate in front of him shone and on it appeared two items; his timetable for the year and a small vase. He placed an unbreakable charm on the vase and then deposited it in his bag. He grabbed a piece of toast as he looked over the timetable. He internally lamented at the fact that today was his busiest day, with Transfiguration, double Arithmancy, and then double Potions. He focused on memorising his timetable as he ate, only looking up once when a first-year tentatively sat across from him at the table. He offered what he hoped was a welcoming smile to the boy – who visibly relaxed – and then returned to working out where his Arithmancy classroom was.

The silence that had settled around him was broken by a loud cough to his right. Draco lifted his head, already bored with the conversation that was about to take place. The third-year boy from the day before was stood at the end of the table, staring at the first year.

“Can I help you?” Draco asked with a roll of his eyes. The third-year ignored him and the first year looked terrified at the prospect of talking to another student.

“Look, kid, you don’t want to be hanging around with him. He’s not the right sort of person. My name is Moritz Flint; I can help you if you want.” Draco didn’t know that Marcus had a younger brother, but now that he knew this kid’s heritage he wasn’t entirely surprised by the hostility. Marcus always was jealous of Draco.

“Why should I trust you?” The first year sounded braver than Draco was expecting. That bravery seemed to falter as he added on sheepishly, “Oh, and my name is Tom.”

“You should trust me, Tom, because I’m not a death eater.” Moritz had leaned forward and lowered his voice to make it seem like he was sharing a secret, but Draco knew it was all for show. He was meant to hear that. He was meant to react. He took another bite of his toast and promptly choked on it at Tom’s next words.

“What’s a death eater?”

Moritz lurched backwards as if he had been slapped. The look of confusion on his face was not unlike Draco’s own, he was sure. Draco took a large gulp of water from his goblet and watched as Tom shrunk in on himself, clearly feeling self-conscious.

“Not that I want any part of this conversation,” Draco started, the two boys’ eyes flashed to him, “but how on earth do you not know what a death eater is?”

Moritz sneered at him, “Why do you care, Malfoy? Sad that your glory days are over?”

Draco rolled his eyes and ignored him, keeping his focus on Tom. The first year seemed to pull himself together again and replied in a tone of practised confidence, “I’m a muggle-born. I think that’s the term; I have non-magical parents.”

Draco reeled back in shock. A muggle-born? In Slytherin? There hasn’t been one of those in…in at least eight generations! This kid was an anomaly. A sure sign that things were changing. He wondered, though, if it meant Tom was worse than all the Slytherins before him. To have broken years of prejudice and tradition – even unknowingly – there had to be something that made the sorting hat place him in the green house; the snake pit. Tom. Tom what? Surely, surely, he had some magical blood. He asked as much.

“My last name is Riddle. And, no, my parents looked over the family tree with an elderly wizard and they couldn’t find anyone who could have been magic. I’m the first.” He said it with pride, but the kid’s eyes betrayed the fear of being ridiculed. Something about his name nagged in the back of Draco’s mind, but he couldn’t work out why.

“Well, blood doesn’t matter to me,” Moritz looked pained to say it, “But death eaters… they hate muggle-borns. Look at him, he clearly doesn’t want you here now he knows. C’mon Tom, my friends are much nicer than this git.”

Before Draco could correct their assumption, Moritz and Tom were walking away. Of course, they mistook his confusion for prejudice. Why on earth would they think otherwise? He looked down at the toast in his hand but had suddenly lost all his appetite.

**

His morning classes were pretty boring; just overviews of how the year would pan out, plus a few basic theory recaps. Draco purposefully focused only on what each professor was saying. He knew that if he let his attention wander then he would only be able to focus on how his classmates kept looking over their shoulders at him, kept eyeing up his wand in fear.

He skipped lunch. His stomach was still rolling over the conversation at breakfast; surely this kid, this Tom, must have been lying. He went to the library during the lunch hour to see if there were any books on the history of the sorting ceremony. Just as his search seemed to be gaining ground – The Sorting Hat’s Mistakes; A Look into House Hiccups proved to be much more of a helpful guide than a long and boring list – the clock tower bell rang out.

The library wasn’t that far from the potions room, but Draco felt like he couldn’t breathe as he stepped into Slughorn’s classroom. The rest of the class had already arrived, and Draco sighed as the only space left was next to Longbottom. He resigned himself to two hours of painstakingly slow potion making with many inaccuracies and sat down next to the squeaky Gryffindor. Longbottom glanced at Draco and shuffled uncomfortably as he too realised that they would likely have to work together. He didn’t understand why they were working in pairs in the first place, seeing as they were technically seventh years and therefore were more than capable of brewing individual potions. Perhaps it was a budgetary thing given the amount of NEWT students had doubled.

An hour later Draco was looking into their steaming cauldron wishing that he had been the one to read the instructions, “You just said dragonfly thoraxes”

“I’m sorry!” Longbottom said. He actually sounded more annoyed than regretful which somewhat surprised Draco, “I read it wrong, but there is a way we can fix it right? Luna always manages to help fix them”

Draco paused at the mumbled mention of the Ravenclaw but quickly shook himself back to the moment. He sighed and turned away from the purple potion, “We’ll need more doxy eggs, about a dozen,” Longbottom hurried over to the supply closet and Draco called out to him, “And grab a handful of wormwood!”

Longbottom returned with the ingredients and Draco added them carefully, watching as the purple potion slowly turned to the desired red. He then went to the supply closet himself to retrieve and triple check the toasted dragonfly thoraxes. Despite his confidence in correcting the potion – and his success in doing so – Draco wasn’t quite feeling right. He couldn’t escape the feeling he had at breakfast. His mind wandered, once he told Longbottom that they were swapping roles, and he couldn’t help but return to questioning the authenticity of Tom’s words.

Draco knew that, logically, the kid wouldn’t lie. No one in their right mind would pretend to be a muggle-born in Slytherin house. Maybe in ten years things would be different and blood status won’t matter but the tension was still high from the war. There were still people roaming the halls who were brought up with the idea that muggle-borns are less-than. Draco was one of them, for Merlin’s sake! True, he was working toward changing his perspective, but he had spent almost every day since he was around four years old learning about blood purity and the superiority of magical folk. He knew that it is wrong, but prejudices like that were practically engraved on his bones and hard to let go of. He’s not sure how the other Slytherin’s feel but he wouldn’t be surprised if the majority of them were still harbouring these judgements about blood.

That kid, Tom, wasn’t safe. The Flint’s may not have been death eaters, but they certainly agreed with the idea of blood purity. Marcus had always hated the other houses. At the time, Draco had thought that it was due to Quidditch rivalry but with his renewed perspective he could admit that his hatred was definitely aimed towards the half-bloods, muggle-borns, and ‘blood traitors’. Draco wouldn’t be surprised if Moritz was tricking Tom into being his friend for some sort of sick prank or possibly even to intentionally put him in danger.

He’d keep an eye on the kid, Draco decided. He’d make sure that this Tom Riddle wasn’t going to get hurt. He might even talk to Slughorn about keeping tabs on Moritz. Although, the potions master didn’t particularly like Draco so perhaps not… He will look up the history of the Flint family though; see if their heritage is as pure as Marcus had claimed. There must be a reason why Moritz, a third-year, chose to be friends with a first-year like Tom Riddle.

And that name… why on Earth did it seem so familiar? Chances are Tom is actually from a long line of wizards and witches, but his mother or father was adopted, or a great-grandparent became estranged from the family. Godric knows that the Black family have their fair share of black sheep – about a quarter of the wizarding population probably has some sort of tie to the household, himself included. It’s possible that the Riddle’s are in a similar situation, but less well known of course. Or maybe they have a product commonly found in the wizarding world; perhaps a textbook or make of broom.

He had to get back to the library, pondering these things any longer without the facts will get him nowhere.

Soon enough – or perhaps not very soon at all, he couldn’t really tell – the clock tower bell rang out for the final time that day. Draco sighed as he gathered up his things and exited the room. He felt dazed as if someone had hit him with a wonky stupefy charm.

He had barely taken three steps out of the door when a light and airy voice settled over his ears and pulled him back to reality. His senses picked up on everything very suddenly, sound rushing past his ears as if it was late to an important meeting.

“Draco, over here!” It felt like her voice was charmed to make whoever she was talking to obey her every command, for no sooner had the words left her mouth had his feet turned in her direction. She gazed up at him with wide, concerned eyes and he reeled back when he saw his reflection in them. How close had he been standing?

“What do you want, Lovegood?” Draco thinks he said.

“You’re still wearing the necklace, that’s good. They’re very handy at keeping away nargles and I suspect that those pesky little creatures are the last thing you need right now. I’m waiting for Harry, he said he wanted to discuss something with me, but I can’t for the life of me figure out what. Perhaps he wants a necklace of his own; I have been trying to make one for everyone, but I needed to catch up on some Transfiguration work over the summer – I barely had time to make yours,” Draco felt like he was watching her voice rather than hearing it. It bobbed up and down, floating as if it had jumped up to grab a cloud and somehow could no longer let go, “Anyway, I’m sure you don’t want to hear me babble on – I’m aware I can be a bit much sometimes. Draco, are you okay? Do you need to sit down? You’re awfully pale.”

He knew he was pale; he felt the colour drain from his face as she spoke. Not only was he incredibly confused about why she prioritised his necklace over Potter’s, but he had also realised why Tom’s name was so familiar. Potter had called him that. Surely that was purely coincidental. The boy is a muggle-born, there’s no way his parents could have known. But to have been placed in Slytherin with a name like that, the first of his kind in over a century… He reeled back suddenly, knocking into Harry who was just exiting the classroom.

“Watcher!” Harry yelped as Draco stepped on his foot. He looked between Draco and Luna, “Malfoy? What are you-”

“Harry, I don’t think Draco is feeling quite well. Perhaps we should assist him in getting to the Great Hall for dinner?” Draco turned to look at Luna as she spoke. Her words seemed unsure, but her tone suggested that she was not asking a question but rather trying to prompt them into action. It reminded him strangely of how his mother handled his father in the past two years. Whenever Lucius was too eager to do his bidding, or too tired to attend yet another meeting in his own dining room. Draco’s mother had always looked out for him and his father. Especially when that monster was walking their halls -

“No need!” Draco said, probably louder than he intended and with a snarl that even fifth year Draco would have cowered from, “I can make my own way there without you Gryffindors getting in the way.”

“Draco, I’m in Ravenclaw.” Luna said, amused but concerned.

“I know that. Do you think I don’t know that? I know that.” And he did. He didn’t know why he called her a Gryffindor, because he knew that his mother had seen a blue scarf covered in blood and not a -

Draco spun around and stalked away. His pulse was pounding in his ears and his hands were shaking. His mind flicked back to sixth year. To water, flashes of light, pain, pain, pain, blood.

He sat down in a corner of the library (and how on Earth did he get there?) with Sorting; Through the Mind, Soul, and Magic to learn more about how the sorting ceremony worked. Taking his mind off of the bad things like his mother had taught him to. Focus on your work, Draco. Learn new things to forget the old. And, oh, how he wished to forget.


	5. Letters Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco writes letters home.  
> (Bit of a filler chapter, sorry.)

**September 6** **th**

Dear Mother,

I hope this letter finds you well. Thank you for the start of term gifts. The seeds are an exceptional form of magic; I'd love to find out more about them. If you have any books on the topic then please don't hesitate to send them my way.

Speaking of recommending some reading, I have been researching the Hogwarts sorting ceremony the past week and am curious as to whether or not you know of any books that detail the event. The library doesn't have much, and while I know there are plenty more books on the topic in the restricted section, finding a professor to grant permission will prove to be very difficult.

I'm sorry that this letter is shorter than I would normally send but I'm sure you understand that my schoolwork and extracurricular research is quite demanding. Write back soon.

Your son,

Draco.

**September 19** **th**

Dear Mother,

It's nice to hear the weather has been pleasant enough to take some walks around the gardens. I hope the peacocks are doing well; when I saw them last their feathers were looking rather dull. I believe that Magical Menagerie used to sell some seeds that promote healthy feathers for owls, perhaps it will work for the peacocks too. I can ask a more trusted Professor to write and inquire for us, if you would like?

Speaking of seeds, I have been remembering to change mine on the required dates, but I do fear that the plant isn't working. The nightmares have persisted despite my care for the flower. I don't think that you were purposefully sold the wrong item, but due to it being ineffective I'm inclined to believe that this may be the case. Sorry, Mother, but I don't think I shall continue with using the plant. Nonetheless, I hope you still know how much I value your attempt at helping me. I wish it had worked.

You asked why I was inquiring about the Hogwarts house system. Do not fret, Mother, I do not think I was placed into the wrong house. In fact, until recently I had no reason to believe anything was wrong with the Sorting Hat. You see, there's a new student in Slytherin. Now, I know this isn't anything unusual given that there were eight sorted into the green house in total, but this Tom – that's his name – he isn't like the other Slytherins. He told me that he is muggle-born.

I hope you were sitting down, Mother. I was glad to be sat down when I found out. I don't understand why he's been sorted into our house. Salazar Slytherin held blood status to a very high standard, as you know, and so for centuries of tradition to be broken… it makes no sense. I want to find out if a mistake was made or if this kid might have secret magical heritage he doesn't know of. I hate to make you think of this, but perhaps a look at the Black family tree could offer us some insight. There is always the possibility that his grandfather or a third cousin of sorts was burnt off in the same way that your sister was, surely? I'm sorry to dig up any bad feelings from the past, Mother, but you asked a direct question and it would have been unlike how you raised me to not answer truthfully.

On the topic of this Tom boy; did you know Marcus Flint has a younger brother? His name is Moritz. He's taken Tom under his wing and I am starting to become afraid for the boy's safety. Marcus wasn't the kindest of people and the Flint's definitely felt superior as purebloods… I'll keep an eye on him.

Wishing you well, your son,

Draco.

**10** **th** **October**

Mother,

I'm terribly sorry for not writing in a few weeks, I imagine you must have been worried. The demand for schoolwork suddenly spiked and the little down-time I got, aside from eating and sleeping, was spent keeping an eye on Moritz Flint.

Thank you for your recommendations of literature surrounding the sorting system but, unfortunately, I have read all of those already. At this point, I do not think that I will find any more information. I will just have to accept the fact that Slytherin House now accepts muggle-borns. In truth, I do not understand why I am so worked up about it. I do not care anymore what someone's blood status is. I know this may come as a shock to you, and please, do not let father see this letter, but I truly see them as equals now. ~~Perhaps even better than~~ I can no longer think of any legitimate reason to dislike and look down on those without pure wizarding blood. Even the term itself – pureblood – I do not like it anymore. Why can't we all just _be_? It's bad enough that the wizards are separated from the muggles. Why is it that when we do mix, there is more hatred? Shouldn't that bring about hope and joy?

I'm sorry for my little rant there, Mother. I fear that my brain has been rotted by spending time with the Weasley girl. Yes, you read that correctly. It feels like wherever I go in the castle Ginny Weasley is there to bother me. She has even taken to sitting with me at mealtimes. Having the company has been nice, though we do not speak much, I just wish that it were anyone else. Well, maybe not her brother or Granger, but even Harry Potter would be a more welcomed guest. I think she may just be keeping an eye on me, making sure I'm not doing anything immoral.

One good thing that has come out of Ginny Weasley sitting with me during meals is that Moritz hasn't been cursing my food as much. He's scared of her, you see. For context: she's the one that hit me with the bat-bogey hex in fifth year. A very talented witch, I hate to admit; she would have made a fine Slytherin.

I'm afraid this is all I have time to write, but I wish you well. Say hello to Father for me, next time you write.

Your son,

Draco.

**12** **th** **October**

Mother,

Just a quick reply to say that I am sorry to have scared you regarding my food. I have the situation under control and yes, I have told Professor Slughorn about it. I doubt that he has done anything about it, or ever will for that matter, but he is at least aware.

Please, do not write to the school; I imagine that could only make things worse. I have somehow picked up a reputation for relying on my parents too much. I can't imagine why but I'm sure that if you write in it shall only prove the other student's theories. Besides, Hogwarts corresponding with you would surely cause a stir that even Father would hear about. It's an unfortunate turn of events but one that is largely inconsequential when looking at the wider circumstances.

Look after yourself,

Draco

**17** **th** **October [UNSENT]**

Mother,

In advance, apologies for the state of my handwriting; I have been shaking uncontrollably the last few days. I believe I may have been hit with an unpractised jellywobbles spell. Not to worry, I'm certain it will wear off soon and really there is no harm done.

Ginny Weasley has stopped following me around the castle, at last. She still sits with me at mealtimes but has recently taken to bringing a friend along with her. Occasionally, she decides that she doesn't actually want to sit with me (I'm surprised it took her so long to realise) and so it is just myself and her friend. I think… you will be pleased about who her friend is, Mother.

Luna Lovegood.

Yes, the girl who was at the manor. At first, I was certain that she would not even bear to look at me but, surprisingly, she has been quite kind. Sometimes Luna starts a conversation, but I rarely join in. I do not think she knows that I am aware she was at the manor. Truthfully, she acts as though she never spent time there at all.

Due to schoolwork and Halloween approaching I may not write for a while so, please, do not worry. If something serious happens then I'm sure the school will be in touch.

Be well,

Draco.


	6. Charms and Cabinets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has a bit of a meltdown? Poor bloke.

A few days before Halloween, Draco arrived at Charms just as Professor Flitwick was beginning the lesson. He had purposefully walked a different route to the classroom so that he didn’t have to walk with Luna, who had the exact same timetable as him on Thursdays. Surprisingly (or not so much depending on your knowledge of the castle), the detour took a whole ten minutes extra, meaning that Draco was the last to arrive.

“Nice of you to join us, Mister Malfoy.” Flitwick squeaked from his place on top of a tower of books. They looked like they should fall at any given moment, but the glimmer of magic that surrounded them suggested that they were charmed to stay put.

Draco stepped toward his usual seat but faltered slightly. There was someone sitting in the space next to his. Or rather, not just someone, but Luna. He sat down slowly, careful not to disturb her as she was quickly copying down everything that Flitwick had started to teach. Draco paid no mind to his professor and instead stared at the bag of peppermint toads that were in front of him. Clearly it was Luna who had provided the treats; if it were anyone else, she likely would have removed them for fear that they had been tampered with to mess with him. Draco picked them up slowly, saw Luna glance at the movement and smile, never once removing her quill from the parchment. He placed the treats back down as if he had been burned and pulled his own piece of parchment and quill from his bag to start taking notes.

Within a few minutes his vision started to blur, and a deep growling pain formed in his stomach. It wasn’t unusual – he knew exactly what was happening, given that he had skipped both dinner last night and breakfast and lunch today (as he had done on more than one occasion in the past month, but that was neither here nor there) – but he still felt conscious of the fact others could likely hear. He glanced at the bag of chocolates but continued to write out of sheer determination. Ten minutes later, when he'd missed the ink pot for the fourth time in a row due to his shaking hands, he placed the quill down and sat back, breathing deeply.

Luna nudged his leg with hers under the table. His skin tingled beneath his trousers where they had touched but he put the odd sensation down to being hyper-sensitive as a result of his hunger. Draco watched as she pulled her wand out and whispered a silencing charm over the bag then returned to her work as if nothing had disturbed her in the first place. Finally, Draco gave in and picked up the bag, noting how usually it would rustle as loud as a mandrake scream. By the time Draco was feeling well enough to write again the lesson was practically over so he just packed up his things and waited.

Luna packed her quill and parchment just before the bell sounded. They left the classroom together and although Draco was just going about the motions, he suspected that Luna stayed near him on purpose. He knew for certain that this was the case when he turned toward the library and she followed. Typically, he would see her meet Ginny outside the classroom and then they would walk to the Great Hall together to study. Not that he paid them any attention. But today, Ginny was nowhere to be seen, and Draco had a short blonde shadow.

The library was quiet, as libraries normally are, but something about it made Draco feel uneasy. Perhaps it was due to Luna accompanying him; he felt like he must make conversation, but any conversation would be incredibly obvious and overheard. He sat in his usual seat at the back of the room. The table, surrounded by towering bookshelves on either side and a large window to the left, had a small lantern on it along with a few pots of ink. This was the spot that Draco often found himself when he was skipping meals. It was the spot that he had spent hours poring over history books about the sorting ceremony. The window had a semi-clear view of the Quidditch pitch and on more than one occasion Draco was distracted by the dot of a certain blonde cheering for her redheaded friend at Quidditch practice. The same blonde was sat across from him now.

“Are you okay, Draco?” The sincerity in Luna’s voice stunned him, and he was unable to reply. Luna simply nodded, as if his silence told her all she needed to know. They worked together in silence for an hour or so before Luna tucked her quill behind her ear and wandered off in search for a book. Draco was around half-way through the latest Transfiguration essay when a hand slammed down next to his. He jumped, because who wouldn’t, and had to take a few deep, subtle, breaths as he saw who had interrupted his studying.

“Got yourself a little toy have you, Death Eater?” Moritz’s voice was thin, spitting venom with every syllable, “Poor thing must be under the imperious curse. Why else would she hang out with you? I’ll find proof of it, scum, and then I’ll be sitting at the front when they put you on trial and send you off to rot!”

Before Draco could react, Moritz walked away. He watched as the younger Slytherin sauntered over to his snickering friends. A sinking feeling announced itself in his stomach, and Draco thought of all the times he’d gone up to someone for no reason just to assert his dominance. He was a prick. Moritz had a point though. Of course, Luna wasn’t under the imperious curse, but Draco couldn’t help but question why she was spending so much time with him.

He wasn’t nice. Draco knew that – came to terms with it long ago. Opposite to him, Luna was the nicest person he had ever interacted with. No matter how someone treated her she never seemed to lose her temper or react negatively. She wasn’t a pushover by any means – that much was clear in her friendship with Ginny – but she was still just so nice.

If he hadn’t thrown the wand to Potter, then no one would care at all what happened to him – although he’s not too sure the list is that extensive anyway. Ginny certainly wouldn’t give him the time of day, she said as much herself. Luna is just an extension of Ginny’s undeserved kindness, that’s all. A kindness that is not genuine because without a last-minute cowardly decision on his part it would not exist.

And that is what throwing that wand was. Cowardice. His mother said he was brave to defy the Dark Lord so openly when there was the risk of Potter failing but she was wrong. He was scared of the Dark Lord having power; it was bad enough in the manor but for that to be how the world was day in and day out… he would have been dead by Christmas either way. He threw that wand as a last attempt to save his own life, not to protect others. A true Slytherin, through-and-through. A true Malfoy down to his core.

The Weasley’s would have done it to help others, he knew that. He’d since realised that at the start of the year, when he told Ginny she’d make a good Slytherin, he was wrong. She wouldn’t, because she never had selfish intentions. He had looked down on them for it before – because they were blood traitors and that’s what he was always told to do.

Betraying the idea of pure blood in favour of inclusivity is nothing when compared to betraying the trust of friend. He thinks he understands now why they did it; he’d do anything to keep –

No. He mustn’t think like that. It will do him no good to dwell on these trivial matters when he knows the truth. Luna and Ginny are simply playing tricks. Ginny learnt it from her brothers and is teaching Luna, an ever-willing apprentice eager to learn. Luna is a Ravenclaw, she can’t help it. He doesn’t think she’s doing it to be malicious, or even to be spiteful. Sure, he had come up with the Looney nickname, but he never said it to her face, just spread it around. She didn’t know it was him. Although, she could have very easily guessed it (see; she’s a Ravenclaw). Still, if she hadn’t then there would be no reason for her to hate him.

He sat back in his chair and stared out the window toward the Quidditch pitch. He could see spots of green dancing in the air and realised that the first game of the season – Slytherin versus Gryffindor – was just around the corner. It was weird knowing that for the second year in a row he wouldn’t be flying around after Potter and the golden snitch.

Potter.

Maybe that was why Luna was being nice to him; she saw the way he had treated Harry and the rest of her friends all these years and had finally had enough. She wasn’t teaming up with Ginny, this was all her. It makes sense; he could tell from the recent time they had spent together that she cared deeply for her friends. He was starting to think that included him but-

“Draco, I found a book explaining what we learned in Charms today in much more detail. I noticed you didn’t take many notes so--”

“I’m doing perfectly fine in Charms without your help.” Draco snapped.

“I know that, I just thought—”

Draco stood up sharply and shoved his parchment and Transfiguration textbook into his bag. Luna sat down, watching with calm eyes as he seethed.

“You didn’t think though, did you? You didn’t think about what it means to be near me. I’m not stupid, Looney,” The serene look she usually held slipped and gave way to hurt at his cruel tone, “I know your plan. Trick me into thinking we’re – what, friends? I don’t have friends like you. It’s laughable, really. I only put up with it because I saw no reason to fight – what else did I have to lose, eh? But not now – no, not now. I’m not letting you do this anymore.”

Luna didn’t stop watching him as he finished packing away his things, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at her. He knew he was right; she wasn’t trying to defend herself after all, and that just made him angrier. Before he could do or say something he would really regret, he left.

He didn’t look back and see Luna still sitting at the desk, head in her hands, tears threatening to cascade down her face. He didn’t see Ginny wave to him as she walked past, nor did he see her frown when he ignored her and frown harder still when she saw Luna.

He didn’t see Ginny reaching for her wand and Luna stopping her. He didn’t see Ginny noticing Moritz looking between them all and laughing. He didn’t see when Luna didn’t stop Ginny when she pulled out her wand again. He didn’t see Moritz hanging from one foot in the air.

He only saw himself, running away. Again. Like the coward he is.

***

The next morning, the DADA classroom had grown in size. The tables and chairs had been pushed to the side and an extension charm had clearly been cast around the room if the faint shimmer in the air was any indication. Draco sat on top of an upturned desk - which was sat on top of another desk itself - near the door of the classroom, throwing his bag underneath as he did. The chairs were teetering in the corner, having been stacked by hand and not magic, and he was not risking them all falling over just to have a seat.

“I need to be able to keep a proper eye on you all today,” Professor Williamson said from his office door. He looked at his students confused faces and smirked as he wandered down the stairs. Draco didn’t particularly like Williamson; the ex-auror had favourites and the Malfoy heir was certainly not one of them. “I need to make sure your wands remain in your bags!”

“Our wands? But the floor is clear, is this not a practical lesson?” Hermione piped up from her place near the front of the classroom where the trio and their friends had gathered. Draco refused to look over out of fear of making eye contact with a certain blonde.

“Ah, Miss Granger, who says you need a wand for practical magic?”

The whole class burst into excited chatter and Professor Williamson spun around and dramatically flicked his wand at the blackboard. The chalk picked itself up and started writing in clear, blocky letters:

WANDLESS MAGIC 101

Draco’s heart dropped to his feet, his stomach turned, and his head swam. He couldn’t just leave the classroom, that would be too suspicious, but he couldn’t deal with people knowing about his ability. Nobody trusted him as it was. If they knew he could do magic without a wand, without them seeing…

Draco was about to stand up and leave, suspicion be damned, when he remembered suddenly that someone in the room already knew that he could perform wandless magic. He craned his neck over the small crowd trying to catch the youngest Weasley’s eyes.

“What do you want, git?” Ginny asked cheerfully as she walked over to him. She had started calling him some rather unpleasant words in cheerful tones recently, just as she did with her older brothers. It was weird. Draco didn’t mind. That was weirder.

“Partner?” He asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. He half expected her to hate him after yesterday.

“Uh, I already promised Hermione that I’d partner with her. Sorry, mate. Maybe next time?”

“Doesn’t really help right now.” Draco muttered. Then so she could hear he said, “I don’t want people knowing, y’know…”

“Oh.” She didn’t realise that the classroom was becoming quieter and so when she said, “Yeah, bit unfair that you’re a master at wandless magic already.” Draco wanted to both scream and disappear.

The entire classroom turned to look at them. Some looked scared, just as Draco had predicted.

He felt his chest tighten. His palms became damp and his fingers ached from where they had curled tightly in on themselves. He started to itch all over, and he stood up from his spot on the table with the intention of leaving the room. Instead though, his lowered gaze caught sight of a stain on the floor.

It appeared to be growing. This dry, brown, ancient stain glared up at him from the floorboards and expanded. While rationally he knew that wasn’t the case, he couldn’t move an inch – not even to scratch that itch – for fear of the stain moving to beneath his feet and swallowing him whole. He would fall through it, dropping into an abyss, left alone with only himself for the rest of time. He would wander in the never-ending darkness for eternity, dreaming of big grey eyes and strands of white locks. The weight of his family’s expectations may dissipate over time, but that wouldn’t stop his shoulders from slumping or his heart from aching.

A clicking noise came from Draco’s throat as he swallowed. Thoughts of the abyss slowly receded as a voice spoke up.

“Ginny!” Hermione scolded. “It’s incredibly rude to mock someone like that, no matter who that person may be!”

“What? I’m not mocking anybody!” Ginny’s face went red in indignation.

“Ginny, please-” Draco tried to stop her from talking but his voice was too quiet and he still couldn't tear his eyes away from the stain.

“Malfoy could perform circles ‘round you, Hermione, without even looking at his wand. I’ve seen his magic work from across a room without it!”

“Gin-”

“It was far more impressive than half the stuff you just copy out of a textbook.” She went on. “It was even wordless, so there’s that too. Also-”

“Weasley would you shut up!” Draco shouted. He knew there were eyes on him, but all he could focus on was the stain. Was the room moving?

“Well then,” Professor Williamson spoke slowly from the front of the class, “Mr Malfoy, if what Miss Weasley is saying is true… would you like to demonstrate to the class?”

If nobody was looking before, they certainly were now. Draco felt a twinge in his neck as he threw his head up at his teachers words. No way was he going to do that. Two years ago, he would have jumped at the chance to show of his skills like this but that was then. Draco’s stomach lurched at the thought of being that exposed now. And since when did Williamson have two heads?

Out the corner of his eye he saw Ginny – or what he thought was Ginny – move closer; she was saying something, but he couldn’t seem to hear it. Then the redheaded blob turned into a blonde blob and a pair of hands reached out to grab his.

He pulled back easily from Luna’s grip, the fresh, gross sweat all over his body making his hands slick. He stumbled backward and fell into the desk he was sat on before. The dull stab of the upturned leg brought him back for a moment long enough to make out the concerned faces of his friends (Are they really his friends though? He thought he had changed his mind about that).

The door seemed too far away but it was less than three feet. Still, his shoes felt a size or two too big as he practically ran out of the room. He hurried down the corridor, hearing Luna call his name but not follow.

It wasn’t until the door appeared before him that he realised where he was, what he’d been doing.

Thinking about his unsteady friendships with Luna and Ginny led him to remember Crabbe and Goyle; how they’d initially only been his friends because of their parents, then they became closer, and then in sixth year he cut them off almost completely. He’s lucky that they were dumb enough to forget about it all or he really may have died in the war (they were also stupid enough to fight for him, because he’s a coward and didn’t want to get hurt). He could have died in the war, just like Crabbe did. In that blasted room.

The door to which had just appeared before him.

He thought it had been destroyed by the fiendfyre Crabbe had cast but obviously it had repaired itself. He knew the castle was magnificent but it really surprised him sometimes. Draco slowly pushed open the door, nervous about what lay behind it.

The room was empty.

The door swung shut as he stepped further into the room. Draco stood in the middle of the surprisingly large space and stared upwards, confused but weirdly calm. High ceilings towered above him, an invisible light source beaming down and casting an ethereal glow across the room. He turned slowly, taking in the whole room with its white-gold walls and bright wooden floors.

Draco took a deep breath, tasting the clean air that blew gently around him.

The room was the exact opposite to how the Manor felt. The exact opposite to how it used to feel in sixth year. There were no longer stacks of boxes and books and trinkets that looked as though they would topple any second. There was no longer a dusty film (that probably held Merlin’s dead skin it had been there so long) coating everything in the room. There was no longer that godforsaken cabinet.

Until there was.

Draco stumbled back as the vanishing cabinet ironically appeared before him.

No.

He turned away, begging the room to get rid of the death bringer. But he knew without looking that it was still there.

The cabinet’s presence was taunting him, and before he even knew the tool had appeared beside him Draco was picking up a sledgehammer and throwing all his weight into the first hit.

The top hinge broke off and the door swung open awkwardly.

He lifted the hammer again and brought it down on the inside shelf. It splintered into a thousand pieces as if it had been rotting away on the inside and was finally free of it's stuffy, controlling outer shell.

Again, and again the sledgehammer crashed through the cabinet. As the wooden frame fell apart and the sound of the shattering panels echoed in the white room Draco felt his face get hot and wet.

His body wracked with guttural sobs. His shoulders ached and his muscles pulled but he didn’t stop swinging until there was no more cabinet left to aim for.

With the pieces of his past laying broken around him, Draco sunk down to his knees and let himself cry – truly and honestly, for the first time.


	7. Halloween and Hurting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco faces a lot of things in this chapter. Namely: feelings, feelings, and more feelings.

“Mr. Malfoy, would you stay please?”

Draco continued to pack his bag, but, instead of walking out of the Transfiguration classroom, he stepped toward the front where Professor McGonagall sat at her desk. Draco saw Ginny dragging Luna out of the classroom, her blonde friend clearly wanting to stay and talk to him.

“Yes, Professor?”

“Mr. Malfoy,” Professor McGonagall sighed, “are you aware that you are failing my class?”

Draco opened his mouth to protest; he couldn’t possibly be failing – he’d been top of his class, second in the whole year, his entire time at Hogwarts. But he remained silent. He knew that he had been slacking recently. Not paying attention in classes, handing in unfinished homework, sometimes just not attending lessons. He lowered his head in shame, imagining his father stood next to him berating him for disgracing the family name. He was useless.

“I contacted the rest of your professors to find out if it were just my lessons and, well, I’m sure you know what they said.” McGonagall summoned a chair over to her desk so that Draco could sit down. He sat, and McGonagall continued. “Mr. Malfoy, this is very unusual for you. Even in the tumultuous year just gone, your grades remained well above your peers. What’s wrong?”

The question shocked Draco. He wasn’t expecting help, or sympathy, or even interest in his wellbeing in general. He sat back, quiet, picking at his nails. He couldn’t speak, for fear of saying too much.

“Well, if you’re not going to talk to me or any of your other professors then maybe you could speak to one of your friends? I noticed Miss Lovegood and Miss Weasley have been in your company a lot.”

“That wouldn’t be fair to them.” Draco said without thinking. He cursed himself internally as Professor McGonagall raised one thin eyebrow and pursed her lips. Trying to save his mistake, he shook his head, “I mean to say, calling them my friends wouldn’t be fair to them. They put up with me, for reasons I still have yet to determine.”

“Perhaps, Mr. Malfoy, they do actually want to be your friends.” Draco shook his head yet again, disbelief clear on his features. Professor McGonagall held out a tin to the young man, “Biscuit?”

Draco declined, bewildered.

“Okay, Mr. Malfoy. If you say there is nothing to worry about then I shall not worry. I do, however, suggest getting help with your classes. Perhaps a tutor would be beneficial?”

“Can I go now?” Draco asked, frustrated at the implication that he needed help – however true that may be.

“Yes.” Professor McGonagall – he should probably call her Headmistress now – nodded her head once then pulled a piece of parchment towards her and started writing. Draco stayed where he was. Without looking up from the parchment, the headmistress said, “Mister Malfoy, if you’re not going to leave at least make yourself useful and help me mark these first-year essays.”

***

Around two hours later Draco put down his quill. His fingers were aching, and his brain felt like it was rotting after reading so many poorly written and incorrect essays. How difficult was it to understand the transfiguration formula – he knew that before he’d even first boarded the Hogwarts Express. Though, Draco mused, he was a pureblood. He had been around magic for his whole life, and some of these kids definitely hadn’t been.

Draco moved to pick up the next essay but faltered at the sight of the name at the top of the parchment. _Tom Riddle_. He hadn’t forgotten about Tom – in fact, Tom was largely the reason Draco was falling behind in his classes. Instead of writing his Potions essay, he was reading about the Sorting Hat, trying to find something he may have missed the first time. When he should have been practising spells for Charms, he was looking for ways someone could be reborn while still alive. He’d come across a few things, but only one made sense, and even then, it wasn’t very solid.

“You may leave now if you so wish, Mr. Malfoy.” Professor McGonagall said without looking up. Draco was starting to think she had some seer in her. Again, Draco didn’t move.

“Professor,” Draco said, his voice a bit shaky, “what do you know about Tom Riddle?”

Professor McGonagall looked up sharply. She noticed Draco’s hand still hovering over the next essay, caught sight of the name, and relaxed significantly.

“He’s a student.” She said sharply.

“Well, yes. But…” Draco dropped his hand back to his lap and started picking at the skin around his nails again. He was unsure now whether he should continue the conversation. “Wasn’t that…wasn’t that _his_ name?”

Professor McGonagall put down her quill. She sat back in her seat, resting her elbows on the arms of the chair, and intertwined her hands in front of her. She was quiet for a moment, thinking, then she sighed.

“Yes.” Draco’s blood ran cold. “But I can assure you, Mr. Malfoy, we have done an _extensive_ background check. He is just a muggleborn with a very unfortunate name.”

“Surely it can’t just be a coincidence?” Draco asked, desperate for some sort of sign that all his research hadn't been for nothing. “I’ve been doing some reading and I came across this term-”

“Mr. Malfoy, is that what has been worrying you?” Professor McGonagall interrupted him. “If you had just asked someone – me, or your own head of house, or even Mister Potter-”

“Like I would ask him.” Draco interjected under his breath.

“-then we could have reassured you that all was well.” Professor McGonagall looked at Draco pointedly. He slumped down in the seat, dejected. He knew that Professor McGonagall wouldn’t lie about something like this, but he couldn’t help but feel the truth was still uncovered. It just didn’t seem like it could be that easy – nothing in his life had ever been that easy.

Draco was quiet for a few seconds before nodding his head and saying his goodbyes. Professor McGonagall went back to marking as he left the room.

Out in the corridor, Draco was unsurprised to find Luna sat on the floor opposite the classroom. She wasn’t wearing any shoes - though some tatty trainers were sat on the stone floor next to her - and her hair was being held by her wand in a bun atop her head. She didn’t have any bags with her, and Draco assumed that Ginny had taken them when the blond refused to leave, but she was holding a copy of her father’s magazine. It was upside down.

“Hello Draco.” Luna said as she stood up and slipped on her shoes. “I hope you’re not in any trouble, you were in there an awfully long time.”

Draco stared at her, then turned and walked down the corridor. She fell into step next to him, talking animatedly about an article she was reading. He listened, because of course he did, but he remained silent.

After the third time of nearly being hit in the face by the magazine due to Luna’s gesticulating, Draco wrapped a hand around her wrist mid-air and snatched the magazine out of it. He put the magazine in his bag, his fingers lingering on Luna’s wrist for maybe a second longer than necessary. She didn’t seem to mind though, as she kept talking.

“-but what’s _really_ interesting is the prospect of a Umgubular Slashkilter being able to breed with a Niffler. I don’t think that would bode well for our jewellery and such, do you?” Luna asked with a slight laugh, then looked at him expectantly. Draco was surprised that she actually wanted a reply, and even more surprised when he found he had one to offer.

“Well, I suppose it depends on what aspects of each creature were inherited.” Draco started, a small part of his brain screaming at him that this wasn’t normal. “If a Niffler’s penchant for finding shiny objects is a dominant gene but a Slashkilter’s need to consume gold a recessive gene then it’s likely we wouldn’t have to worry all that much.”

Luna stared up at him, a smile growing on her face. Draco looked at her and couldn’t fight his own small smile at the sight of her glee.

“Do you have any plans for Halloween, Draco?” Luna asked as they exited the castle and made their way to the Owlery. Draco didn’t need to ask if Luna wanted to come along – he had a sneaking suspicion that she would be doing so even if he didn’t want her to. He shook his head at her question. “Oh, but you are going to be at the feast, aren’t you? I’m incredibly sad because I have to miss pudding. I promised Hagrid I’d help with the thestrals in the evening.”

Luna did look incredibly dejected at the prospect of not getting pudding and Draco fought the urge to reach out a hand and console her. Instead, he huffed a laugh and promised that he’d try to sneak a brownie out for her. Her face lit up, which told Draco that it was the right thing to say.

“I hate these stairs.” Draco complained as they reached the Owlery. “We’ve just had to walk across half the grounds, couldn’t they have found a magical way to get us up to the birds?”

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Draco?” Luna asked, but, despite the question, no judgement lay in her tone or her expression. Draco looked at her with a sceptical eyebrow raised and she giggled. She hopped up onto the first step, “Come on!”, and rushed up the rest with a skip and a laugh.

It took Draco all of half a second to make the uncharacteristic decision to chase after her. He could hear his father in the back of his head scolding him for not presenting himself in a respectable manner but at that moment Draco chose to ignore it, and instead focused on the cold rush of the wind as he climbed higher and higher. There was a strange noise in the air and when Luna looked back with wild, happy eyes he realised it was him – he was laughing.

They reached the top at almost the same time; Draco’s long legs allowing him to catch up with Luna rather quickly. Luna collapsed on the floor just inside the doorway with a happy sigh, catching her breath. Draco turned his nose up at the bird poo already starting to cling to her robes, but she paid no mind to the mess.

He made his way over to his family owl, Dionysus, and fed him a small treat. He pulled the letter to his mother out of his bag as Luna came and stood next to him, fussing over the eagle owl. Dionysus pecked at Luna’s fingers playfully as Draco tied the letter to his leg. He offered another treat just before the owl took off, spreading his wings the full five feet.

“Wow,” Luna whispered, leaning into Draco’s side, “I’ve never seen an eagle owl up close before. They’re magnificent.”

Draco’s arm automatically came up and rested around Luna’s shoulder, a natural instinct after so many years pretending to be interested in Pansy. He didn’t even realise he had done so as he replied, “I remember seeing Dionysus for the first time when I was eight. I turned to my father and said that if I didn’t have him, I’d ask to be put in Hufflepuff when I went to Hogwarts. I think you can tell what my father decided.”

Luna laughed quietly but made a point to mention that there was nothing wrong with Hufflepuffs. Draco laughed at that, pulling Luna in closer as he did. The movement alerted him to their position, and he stiffened suddenly. Luna noticed the change and casually slipped out from under his arm, walking back to the stairs.

“Walk me back to the Great Hall.” She said. From anybody else, it would have seemed like a question, but Luna left no room for argument. She wasn’t having him pulling away again, he could tell.

Draco followed her outside and they made their way down the steps of the Owlery. The day was quickly slipping away from them and there was an icy end-of-October chill in the air. Luna skipped every other step with a hop as she descended, almost losing her footing a couple of times. Each time Luna’s feet tried to go out from under her, Draco was right next to her pulling her upright. She kept laughing and laughing, giddy from the rush of nearly falling, but Draco was on edge unable to find the humour in her nearly hurting herself. They made it to the castle quickly, both eager to get back to the warmth.

“Oi!” Ginny’s voice echoed across the Great Hall as Luna and Draco entered. Most people paid no mind to the female Weasley, but Draco still felt like everyone was watching him as Luna grabbed his wrist and dragged him over to the Gryffindor table. He was pushed down into the empty seat between Luna and Harry, opposite Hermione, and he felt like he was going to be sick.

Ron glared at him and aggressively from his spot to Hermione’s left and started to eat the chicken wing he was holding. Draco suppressed the urge to say something cruel to the youngest male Weasley and instead looked down at his plate where Luna was placing some bread. The Ravenclaw was happily chatting about her Care for Magical Creatures class that day, but it seemed to Draco that only Ginny – who was on Hermione’s other side – and Harry were listening to her. Ron was still glaring at Draco, and Hermione’s face was being covered by a book.

Draco did a double take.

“Magick Moste Evile?” He said without thinking, interrupting Luna. “What on Earth are you doing reading that?”

Hermione lowered the book slowly, trying to finish the line she was reading before answering the question. The small group went quiet as Hermione opened her mouth to reply.

Ron spoke up first, “Familiar with it, Malfoy?”

Draco rolled his eyes, “I was reading it the other day – don’t look at me like that I was doing research-”

“That doesn’t help your case, mate.” Ginny said with a grimace but there was amusement in her eyes. Draco sighed, giving up, and picked at one of the bread rolls Luna had given him.

“I’m also doing research.” Hermione said at last. Draco looked up at her slightly and she continued, “I took it out a few years ago but it didn’t have the information I wanted, but I always vowed to re-read it just to find out more.”

“What did you want to learn about? I also couldn’t find what I wanted.” Draco couldn’t believe he was actually having a conversation with Hermione Granger. The bushy-haired girl, however, seemed to pause, glancing at Harry.

“How did you even access the book? It’s in the restricted section.” Ron asked suddenly, suspicion written all over his face.

“I got it for him.” Luna said, an outright lie. He’d actually had his mother send him the book from home as he knew his father had a copy.

“What did you do that for?” Ron asked with a disgusted expression on his face. Draco tensed, not liking how Ron had shifted the glare to Luna.

“Because he’s my friend.” Luna said with an edge to her voice that Draco had never heard before. Ron looked away quickly, clearly intimidated by the Ravenclaw’s sudden change in demeanour. Draco was reacting in the opposite way, staring openly at the blond girl beside him and feeling something uncomfortable stirring within him. It wasn’t a bad feeling, per se, but it definitely made him feel bad (although, Draco wasn’t entirely sure that made much sense).

“Well,” Hermione spoke up again. While Draco was having a crisis and Ron was being his usual hostile self, she had been having a silent conversation with Harry, “I’m sorry it wasn’t much help for you. Maybe I could suggest another book? What were you researching?”

“Uh, it was-” Draco paused abruptly. Did he really want to tell her about this, tell any of them? He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to have someone else helping him, but this was dark magic that he was researching and, although he wasn’t looking it up for himself, he knew he had to tread carefully. He took a deep breath, “I came across something rather odd, the other day, about a bit of rare magic and-”

Draco was cut off by Harry’s fork hitting his plate loudly. Draco jumped slightly at the noise, as did everyone else in their little bubble. Ginny reached a hand across the table and squeezed Harry’s gently, reassuring him of something Draco was oblivious to. Even Hermione and Ron looked confused at Harry’s reaction.

“You alright there, Potter?” Draco asked, horrified to realise he actually wanted to know what was wrong.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine- Luna!” Harry looked around Draco suddenly and addressed the Ravenclaw, “Did Hagrid talk to you about helping him tomorrow night? I couldn’t do it because I have a meeting with McGonagall.”

And just like that, the topic of conversation was changed. Hermione went back to reading her book, Ron went back to eating enough food for a small army, Harry and Ginny went back to listening to Luna talk. Draco was just sat there. He picked at his bread again and zoned in and out of the conversation around him. He felt like he had missed something important, and he still had that funny feeling when he looked at Luna.

***

Most of Saturday – Halloween – went by in a blur. Draco spent most of it cooped up in the library trying to get his Transfiguration homework done to an acceptable standard, but once again he was distracted by the white dot in the Quidditch stands. He really needed to pick a more productive spot to work.

Eventually he made his way to the Great Hall in time for the Halloween feast, actually wanting to eat something for once. As he walked in and was greeted with the sight of floating pumpkins and the smell of all the food he had come to love over the years, Draco felt a rush of sadness that it would be his last Halloween feast at Hogwarts. It hadn’t occurred to him the year before because it had been cancelled, and the year before that he didn’t realise it could have been his last. Draco quickly sat down in his usual spot at the Slytherin table and started filling his plate.

Not two minutes later a warm body was pressed along his side as Luna sat down next to him. She was very close, but Draco didn’t have time to say anything before two more people sat opposite them. Ginny had brought her plate over from the Gryffindor table – it was stacked high with roast potatoes, parsnips, and carrots, and gravy that was threatening to spill over her as she nudged some things around and put the plate down next to the one provided at the Slytherin table. Draco suppressed an impressed whistle as she piled the Slytherin plate with meat; if it were anyone else he would have said they would never get through it all, but this was Ginny, and when Ginny set her mind to something she wasn’t stopping until she had done it.

Next to Ginny, Harry looked like he would much rather be sat with his other friends at the Gryffindor table – especially because of the looks he was getting from the other houses. Draco tried to offer a sympathetic smile – he knew what it felt like to have people staring at you when it was the last thing you wanted – but Harry wasn’t looking and Draco felt it appeared as more of a grimace anyway.

Luna and Ginny started conversing quickly between mouthfuls, luring both Harry and Draco into the conversation without them even noticing. They seemed to be speaking about everything and nothing. Draco zoned out a few times but was soon brought back to the conversation by Luna’s wistful tones and occasionally a small nudge under the table. He still thought they were sat too close, elbows more than brushing, but he was starting not to mind it all that much.

McGonagall stopped the feast about halfway through to address the school and tell them how proud she was of them all. It was rare to see the new Headmistress so emotional, but Draco supposed that everyone was in a weird state since the war and he knew it was the second – or maybe even the third – that the woman had lived through.

The speech left everyone a bit quiet until Hagrid let out a tremendous fart that had the whole school in stitches. Well, the whole school bar Draco. He did laugh, of course, but much quieter and for much less time than his peers. Luna found it hilarious though, wrapping her arms around her stomach and leaning backwards as she laughed. Draco watched, mesmerised at how someone could be so happy. As she calmed down, Luna fell forward in a slump toward the table and rested her head briefly on Draco’s shoulder. Her hair tickled his jaw as she moved to sit upright again.

Soon enough the main part of the feast was over, and students and staff started to filter out slowly as the pudding appeared. Hagrid awkwardly walked out of the Great Hall and Luna sighed happily as she remembered she was going to help with the thestrals. She said short goodbyes to Harry and Ginny, then placed her hand on Draco’s shoulder for balance as she stood up. Without removing her hand, she bent down slightly so her mouth was right near his ear – his skin prickled.

“Don’t forget, you promised me a brownie.” Luna said quietly. She stood up straight again and smiled sweetly at him as he looked up at her. She turned swiftly and skipped out of the hall, Draco watching her leave with that strange feeling swirling in his stomach again.

“Oi, Blondie,” Ginny said, pulling his attention back to the table, “how did your meeting with McGonagall go yesterday? Luna said you were in there for hours.”

“I was helping her mark some first-year essays.” Draco said, answering the unspoken question as to why it took so long rather than actually revealing what the Headmistress wanted. Ginny wasn’t fooled.

“Whatever – what did she want?” Ginny was obviously genuinely interested in the meeting as she leant conspiratorially over her bowl of ice cream.

“Uh.” Draco glanced at Harry who looked just as curious. He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed, and not actually believing he was admitting this to people he used to consider his enemies. ( _Used to_ , now isn’t that something to unpack?) “I’m falling behind.”

“In what lesson?” Harry asked, biting into a pastry.

“All of them.” Draco said it quietly, but that didn’t stop the couple from hearing. Harry gasped slightly at the news, sending bits of his pastry flying into the back of his throat and causing him a mini coughing fit. Ginny patted her boyfriend’s back as she looked at Draco with concern.

“All of them?”

“Yes.” Draco said, folding two brownies into a napkin for Luna. “She suggested a tutor, but I don’t know anyone who would want to do that. I don’t even know if I want a tutor.”

“Surely you don’t want to keep failing though?” Harry asked, recovered from his coughing fit.

“Of course not.” Draco tensed slightly, the old rivalry between himself and Potter reigniting slightly in the back of his mind. As annoying as it was to feel inadequate, there was part of him that was relieved to have some sense of normalcy back with the feeling.

“What about Luna?” Ginny asked. Draco looked at her sharply, but her eyes were glued to the brownies in his hand. He quickly put them in his bag – out of sight and out of mind – and started to disagree, but Ginny kept going. “No, think about it. She’s your friend, you have all but one class together, and she’s a Ravenclaw. What more could you need in a tutor?”

“She’s probably far too busy, I couldn’t possibly ask her-”

“What do you think, Harry?” Ginny cut Draco off and elbowed her boyfriend in the side. Harry jerked slightly, his mouth hanging open in confusion – he hadn’t been paying attention. “Luna, as Draco’s tutor. Perfect right?”

Harry looked a Ginny with a blank expression before he winced and turned to Draco. Draco suspected that the boy who lived would have a bruised toe in the morning.

“Luna would be your tutor.” Harry shrugged, “She loves helping the people she loves.”

Draco barely registered what Harry said before the boy who lived started to move. Ginny was smirking into her ice cream.

“I have my own meeting with McGonagall, so I’ll catch you later,” Harry paused as he stood up, “Oh yeah, Gin, I’ve been meaning to ask you: Who did Draco take to the Yule Ball? He would only say that you and the girl were friends.”

Ginny looked up from her bowl slowly, glancing at Harry before settling her gaze on Draco. He felt as if he were being studied and, while utterly unwelcomed, it appeared as though Ginny was deciding whether to lie or not. He was not shocked when Ginny’s features twisted into that of disgust. He was sure that she was about to tell Potter everything and ruin whatever sort of weird truce had fallen between them all. Which was why her words were so surprising.

“Pansy Parkinson and I were never friends and we never will be. Did you get struck by a memory charm, Malfoy?” Ginny shovelled more ice cream into her mouth, trying not to laugh at Draco’s bewilderment lest she reveal her half-truth.

“Wait, you went to the ball with Pansy? Why were you being so secretive about it then? Hang on, you said she was in the year below…” Harry tilted his head in that overgrown puppy way that he does, “I don’t think I will ever understand you, Draco Malfoy.”

As soon as her boyfriend left the Great Hall, Ginny exploded with laughter, “You’re face! I don’t think I have seen someone so petrified in their life, and I opened the Chamber of Secrets!”

“Shut it, Weasley, people are staring.” Ginny just smiled and kept eating.

Draco watched as some more students decided that they’d had enough to eat and started to mill out of the room. It was rather boring to look at, he soon realised, and was about to turn back to his quasi-friend when a disturbance in the crowd caught his attention.

A young girl was trying to push her way back into the hall, looking desperate. She was frantically clawing her way through and many of the students didn’t even bother sparing her a glance, let alone think to move out her way. Draco stood to help just as a Hufflepuff student noticed and stepped to the side, allowing the girl to leap from the crowd and run up to the head table.

“Professor Slughorn, sir, we need your help!” Her voice carried throughout the hall toward where Draco was standing. Ginny looked up from her bowl as Draco stepped over the bench. The girl was once again trying to push through the crowd, this time in the opposite direction, and with the robes of a confused Horace Slughorn clasped in her fist, “It’s Tom! He’s bleeding, he won’t stop! Moritz hit him with a curse and…”

The girl’s voice trailed off as she hurried out the hall. Ginny stood up just as quickly as Draco’s stomach dropped to the floor. They both raced through the crowd, which decided to part much quicker now they were aware of the importance of the situation.

Draco and Ginny stepped out of the Great Hall and saw Harry running towards them, his face as pale as Draco felt. Harry tipped his head toward one of the lesser-used classrooms on the ground floor and Draco and Ginny barrelled in, Harry following close behind.

“…we were just practising our magic, is all. Nothing else, honestly sir! But then Moritz couldn’t quite transfigure a stool into a teapot – there were still legs, you see – so Elizabeth and I were making fun of him, just light-hearted stuff of course, and Tom joined in because, y’know, he’s our mate, that’s what mates do… but Moritz just lost it! He started saying some really horrible things sir and then, well…”

They were greeted with an all-too-familiar scene. Tom was lying on the ground, writhing in pain with blood pooling out of deep slashes across his chest. Moritz was standing nearby but unlike Harry in sixth year, he didn’t look sad or sorry at all. In fact, he looked almost delighted. Slughorn was leant over Tom’s body, summoning as many healing potions as he could think of. Someone called out that Madam Pomfrey was on her way, but both Harry and Draco knew she would not be able to help.

Harry stepped forward and knelt beside Tom. He gently placed his hand on Slughorn’s shoulder and shook his head. After performing a quick body-binding curse on Moritz, Ginny started to herd the other students out of the room. Everything felt like it was happening in slow motion and Draco stumbled backward until he hit the wall of the classroom.

“Malfoy!” Harry’s voice cut through the quickly developing fog and forced Draco to focus on what was happening, “Leave the room.”

Draco would have stopped to marvel at the concern in Harry’s voice, but he didn’t have time, “No, I- I can help.”

He pushed himself off the wall and strode forward to take Slughorn’s place beside the body. The knees of his trousers were instantly soaked through with blood. Harry was protesting but Draco wasn’t listening, trying to focus on the one semi-normal moment of his sixth year.

_“You must really focus, Draco,” Professor Snape drawled, “This isn’t just any other spell. It is not unlike an unforgivable; it is imperative the intent behind the spell remains strong.”_

_Draco couldn’t resist the urge to roll his eyes. He was thankful for the lesson, truly, but given the topic, he thought Severus would treat him a little less like a child. Snape looked unimpressed._

_“You wanted to learn this, did you not? Then pay attention. Vulnera Sanentur…”_

_Snape waved his wand over the mouse on his desk, following the path of the wound caused just moments ago. The flow of blood ceased, and Snape repeated the spell, clearing the residue left behind. His attention was unwavering as the wound knit itself back together upon the third incantation._

“Vulnera Sanentur…” Draco’s voice shook along with his wand, but his focus remained steady as he healed Tom.

“Dittany,” Draco looked up to find Harry, Ginny, and Slughorn staring at him in what could easily have been interpreted as awe. Of course, that couldn’t have been correct because nobody was ever impressed with Draco Malfoy, not anymore. He cleared his throat and repeated, “Dittany. I need dittany or he’ll scar, where is it?”

Harry clumsily crawled to the selection of potions that Slughorn had summoned and rifled through them. He hurriedly passed the vile to Draco who immediately started applying the essence to the wounds. Tom had passed out from the pain, but he was breathing steadily so Draco knew that he would be okay.

Draco had just finished applying the potion when Madam Pomfrey came rushing through the door. Immediately a dozen students pushed their heads into the old classroom to see what was going on; they looked terrified at Draco leaning over the body, clearly thinking that he was the cause for injury in the first place.

“Mister Malfoy!” Madam Pomfrey’s normally calm and soothing voice resonated piercingly around the almost-empty room, “Did you just… _heal_ this young boy?”

The student’s behind her looked at each other in shock, and disbelief, then back to Draco in what was definitely awe. Draco nodded his head, unable to talk as exhaustion and anxiety took over him. He started to shake but quickly hid his hands in his pockets as he stood up.

“What an excellent job, Mister Malfoy. No doubt you saved his life.” Madam Pomfrey looked at him with misplaced pride. The students started to whisper between themselves as Draco tripped toward the door.

“Move out the way you lot!” Ginny’s voice echoed around him as he tried to push his way through the crowd. They parted quickly, many of them thanking him as he went. He shoved those that didn’t move fast enough out of his way. Ginny followed closely behind as he careened down the stairs to the dungeon.

***

“What the hell?” Ron’s voice bounced off of the walls of the common room as Draco stumbled through the oak doors. He knew he was leaving a trail of bloody footsteps behind him but there was no use in worrying about it now; he’d apologise to Dinkly later.

Ron stormed up to him and Ginny demanding answers, but Draco pushed past him and turned towards the dorms and bathroom. Terry Boot was standing in the doorway, arms crossed and looking at Draco as if he were the scum of the Earth. Draco supposed he was. He didn’t want to walk out again, knowing that half of the student population was just at the top of the dungeon stairs. He felt like a pixie caught in wand light. He felt a hand touch his back, guiding him towards the curtain in the back of the room.

“Someone tell me what is happening!” Ron’s voice cut through that dastardly fog that kept creeping its way into Draco’s mind, “Why on Earth is he covered in blood? Did he hurt someone? I knew that he shouldn’t have been allowed back here; he’s dangerous. Wait, where’s Harry, does he know about-”

“Will you shut up, Ron?!,” Ginny cut off her brother’s rant with an exasperated shout, “He just saved a kid’s life, give him a break.”

Ron shut up surprisingly quickly and soon enough he was out of sight as the curtain fell closed behind Draco and Ginny. Draco stepped down into the memorial cubby and quickly sat on the bench that lined the curved wall. The sea creatures outside the window came to greet Ginny, who was a regular visitor to the area, and she chuckled as they tried to get Draco’s attention. Ginny crouched down to look at the pedestal and tentatively traced her finger over one of the names; _Fred Weasley_. Draco felt a new wave of nausea sweep over him. He leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and ran his hands through his hair almost obsessively. His nails scraped at his scalp and his fingers tugged at his hair. His face felt hot and he despaired at the fact that _anyone_ was seeing him like this, let alone Ginny Weasley. Sure, they had some sort of weird truce, and if held at wand-point Draco may even admit that they could be friends, but she was still a Weasley. She was still that same girl who stood up to him at age eleven when he thought he was untouchable. Still the girl that bat-bogied him in Umbridge’s office. No matter how much he deserved those fates, he couldn’t entirely let that old grudge die, whether he wanted to or not.

“I’m going to get Luna, she’s better at this stuff than me.” It wasn’t until Ginny’s hand left his shoulder that he realised she had even sat next to him. The movement of the curtain alerted him to her departure, as well as the small group of students that had gathered just outside.

“Don’t you lot have more interesting things to do? Get a life.” Ginny sounded fed up and Draco felt a surge of guilt, thinking that she must have felt like an overworked babysitter at this point. The curtain fell back into place and Draco heard the troop of eighth years disband, whispering amongst themselves.

When Draco heard movement again around ten minutes later, he assumed it was Ginny returning with Luna. He was shocked into standing when Ron’s voice broke the silence that had settled.

“So, you’ve clearly brainwashed my sister.” Ron had his arms crossed and a pained expression on his face, almost as if he were forcing himself to be angry. Draco rubbed at his face quickly, hoping that Ron didn’t see the tears that had been running down his cheeks. He noted that his hands had specks of blood on them and it seemed as though Ron did too, “You really save that kid? Or did you hurt him when no one was looking then reverse the damage to seem the hero? You don’t fool me, Malfoy, I know you haven’t changed. You’re still the same bloke who thinks his father is a god and Hermione has dirty blood.”

“My father is the furthest thing from a god to ever walk the Earth, but you disrespect him or my family again and you _will_ regret it.” Draco may not have been feeling one hundred percent, but no matter his mood he would always defend his family. Even if they were horrible people.

“You really think that you’re in a position to threaten me right now, Malfoy?” Ron stepped forward, his hands in a fist at his side. A few years ago, Draco would have pushed him until he swung or reached for his wand. Now, though… He sat back down on the bench.

“Just leave.”

Ron took a step backward, “You’re a mess, aren’t you?” He shook his head and went to leave, “Still a git though.”

Once more the curtain was pulled back to reveal people just outside. Ginny and Luna were stood there, clearly about to enter the cubby themselves. Ginny and Ron appeared to be having some sort of argument without words and, eventually, Ron huffed and stalked out of the common room entirely. Ginny rolled her eyes and followed him after giving Luna a nudge.

Luna sat next to Draco on the bench, their legs touching. Hers were cold from where she had been helping Hagrid outside, but the sensation was grounding rather than shocking. She took something out of her robe pocket and started to fiddle with it. Draco glanced down, noticing the already twinkling light from the windows bouncing off of it. It was a bracelet. It was light gold, almost silver in the light. The bracelet appeared to be made out of a soft, fuzzy, ribbon-type material. Draco had never seen it before and was sure that it must have been charmed to feel softer on the skin. On the top of the bracelet was a small silver hare, crafted from the same material as the band. It looked as though it were caught in motion, a small trail of the ribbon extending from the back of the hare and wrapping around the band of the bracelet to show the movement pattern of the small creature.

“Did you make that?” His voice was quiet, not wanting to completely break the silence that had once again settled in the small cubby.

“Yes,” Luna replied, just as quietly, “I made it after the DA meetings were disbanded. It’s my Patronus.”

Draco felt a twinge of jealousy, unable to produce a Patronus himself. He sat back on the bench, the glass of the wall cool on his back, and stared at the spots of blood on his hands again.

“Scourgify,” Luna’s wand tapped his hands, “There. You may have saved his life, but you don’t need to be reminded of it. It must have been scary, seeing all that blood. Especially when you once experienced it yourself.”

Draco chuckled slightly at how matter-of-fact Luna was about the whole situation. It was refreshing, to not have someone hate him but still be frank with him. Normally, those who thought he was an okay guy either worshipped him, and so didn’t dare say anything that could offend, or babied him.

“Draco, are you okay?” Luna looked concerned at his laughter, and leaned forward slightly to look in his eyes, “You’re awfully gleeful for someone who just watched a boy nearly die.”

“Never change, Lovegood.” Draco said with a shake of his head.

“You’d stop calling me that,” Luna said quietly after a few minutes of silence, “Draco, don’t put those walls back up. Here,” She placed her bracelet in his hand and closed his fingers around it, holding his hand tightly, “A bit of light to guide you through the darkness.”

Draco swallowed thickly. A year ago – hell, a month ago – he would have been insulted at the idea of someone offering a Patronus-themed gift. Now, though, he was touched. He could tell that the bracelet was hand-crafted, no magic involved apart from the softening charm. Not only that but it was very personal: a Patronus is so unique to the individual that sharing it with others can be a very intimate affair. Draco wondered how revealing Luna’s Patronus was of her personality and vowed to research Patronus meanings at some point. Perhaps his research would help him achieve a corporeal Patronus of his own.

“I hope your pain eases soon, Draco,” Luna’s voice was even quieter now, almost a whisper, and her hands squeezed his, “I’m here if you need me, and there is no shame in admitting you do.”

Luna let go of his hands gently, the warmth of her skin lingering for just that little bit longer. His eyes tracked her movements as she stood to leave. He watched as she took careful but deliberate steps toward the curtain; he had never seen someone so sure of themselves but so aware of others before. She giggled at a grindylow that had been swimming just behind Draco and then skipped up the small step into the common room. The curtain moved aside for her and she looked back as she stepped through, glancing at Draco with her wide, grey eyes one more time before skipping through the common room and out the door. The curtain fell back into place as soon as the oak doors swung shut behind her as if it knew Draco had been watching her leave.

He sat there thinking for a long while, about a myriad of things, but one thought kept creeping back; Luna Lovegood was rather curious, he thought, but nonetheless mesmerising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update! This chapter has been in the works from the start - the Sectumsempra scene was one of the first ones I wrote for the fic - but my god was it a pain to finish ahah.  
> Hope you enjoyed it!  
> Please leave a comment, they make my day :)


	8. Truth or Dare or Trauma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several things go awry and Draco just wants to be able to relax. Truth or Dare - wizard style.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost had this out on time (I've been trying to post once a month, idk if anybody noticed that) but alas, life got in the way.  
> This chapter was meant to be fun, sorry ahaha  
> Also the formatting is janky af but it's at least readable so - small victories. I'll get the hang of it soon enough :)

For the last week, Draco couldn’t go anywhere in the castle without people staring at him or whispering about him or even worse, coming up to him and _thanking him_. He didn’t deserve such praise. He’d taken to staying behind for an extra ten minutes before lunch and after the last class of the day so that he could avoid the crowds of students. On occasion, he’d even started ducking into random classrooms and broom closets to avoid especially large groups of students. It was becoming rather frustrating, especially after the third time he’d stuck his foot into a mop bucket.

He didn’t really know what to do with himself. This was the life he had expected to have when he first started Hogwarts, but then Potter didn’t want to be friends and suddenly he was the bad guy and then he played into it – because what else was he supposed to do? – and then he was being forced to play into it and forced to kill his headmaster and-

Draco squeezed his eyes shut, losing track of how many times he’d stirred the cauldron before him. Potions was still a drag, with Slughorn not liking him and Longbottom not applying himself but at least it was a drag he was good at. Until now, obviously. Because there’s nothing like the trauma of almost becoming a murderer to- He shook his head clear of the thought and looked back at the potion. It was black, which wasn’t right at all. He didn’t have the energy to correct it. He glanced over at Longbottom who was pointedly not looking at the cauldron.

“Take over.” Draco said, startling the Gryffindor.

“What?”

“I said, take over. I need a break.” Draco dropped into his seat to the left of the cauldron and flicked through his potions book just for something to do. Longbottom stood up and looked at the potion, then up at the board, and then back at the potion. His face was scrunched up in a rather unflattering way, his eyes squinting at Slughorn’s chalk scrawl.

“This isn’t right.” Draco rolled his eyes and ignored him. “Did you stir it too many times?”

That made Draco look up. Not once had Longbottom actually succeeded in making a potion before; there was a reason Draco did all the work. The closest the Gryffindor had gotten was when they were making the Joint-Ease potion last week and he did four of the five steps correctly before Draco had to stop him from adding too many doxy eggs (an act that would have made anyone within eight metres have green boils for a week).

“Yes. I did. How did you know that?” Draco said, not happy about admitting his mistake but too surprised at Longbottom’s sudden knowledge to care.

“It’s meant to be green, isn’t it?” Neville looked at the potion again and then at his book. He flicked through a few pages and muttered some things under his breath that Draco couldn’t hear. He then walked off, toward the stock cupboard, leaving Draco to stare after him confused.

Longbottom returned quickly enough, holding a jar of caterpillar setae. Draco stood up to join him at their cauldron, surprise etched upon his face. Longbottom carefully measured out two ounces of the fine hairs and poured them into the cauldron, stirring it three times counter-clockwise. Draco watched as the potion slowly turned green.

“You did it.” Draco said quietly. “You actually did it.”

Longbottom turned to look at him, surprise present in his own expression as well. “I did it!”

Harry and Hermione looked over from where they were working together and smiled encouragingly at their friend. Harry even gave a small cheer. Draco rolled his eyes at the display of friendship, ignoring the sting in them at the same time. He awkwardly patted Longbottom on the back, causing the Gryffindor to flinch and jump away.

“Oh, sorry.” Draco muttered, then returned to his seat. They had to let the potion simmer for fifteen minutes now and so he pulled out some parchment and started to work on the essay Slughorn had set at the beginning of class. After about five minutes, he noticed that Longbottom hadn’t moved. Draco glanced up at the Gryffindor and raised an eyebrow when he saw him already looking. Longbottom went red.

“I just- I don’t normally do well in potions. I learn better by watching and it’s a very hands-on subject, you see.” Neville twisted his hands around his wand and took a step back to awkwardly perch on his own stool. “And well, I wanted to thank you, I guess? Because you’ve been doing most of the work and I actually understand it now – at least, enough to maybe pass, finally. How I got into this class in the first place is beyond me…”

Draco scoffed. _Thank_ him? What was it with people thanking him all of a sudden? He was completely and utterly sick of it. He didn’t deserve thanks; he didn’t deserve any act of kindness. He was Draco Malfoy, Death Eater, Pureblood scum. Besides, if anyone in this school had any right to hate him it was Longbottom – he’d been so unnecessarily cruel to him.

“It’s weird, thanking you.” Longbottom said suddenly, a pensive look crossing his face. “But I guess weirder things have happened. You saving that kid, for instance.”

Draco’s body went stiff. He couldn’t have a single conversation without people mentioning Tom. Did no one realise that he didn’t want to talk about it? Did no one stop for a second to think _why_ he knew how to help?

“Ron’s still convinced you had something to do with the injury, but Ginny and Luna keep putting him in his place. Harry too, believe it or not. But it only really works when Luna does it. Ron’s too used to Ginny shouting at him and Harry isn’t very firm about it. Luna though, she gets furious. I’ve known her for years, but I’ve never seen her like that before.”

Draco stared resolutely at his parchment, forced his hand to keep moving as he asked, “You’re close then?”

“Me and Luna? Yeah. I asked her out a while back, but she said no. No harm done, I’m just happy to be her friend.” Longbottom said with a sad smile.

“It is a peculiar thing, to be friends with Luna Lovegood.” Draco said quietly, not really knowing why he said it and hoping that Longbottom didn’t hear it. He did.

“Yeah,” Longbottom sighed happily, “she’s wonderful.”

“Quite.” Draco ignored the look he received and instead stood to bottle their potion. He handed it off to Slughorn at the front of class just as the bell rang then returned to his desk and packed up his things, magicking away the mess they’d made.

They exited the classroom together, Longbottom still giving him that curious look, and at the same time noticed the blonde sat on the stairs leading out of the dungeon. Luna stood quickly, falling into step between them and chatting happily about her day.

“-and then Hagrid said, ‘There’s only so many Bowtruckle bites a Pixie can take’! It was so funny! I almost fell into the trough I was laughing so hard. Ginny didn’t understand it, but I knew you would, Draco, I just _knew_ it would make you smile.”

And sure enough, he was smiling. He didn’t tell her that, while he understood the joke, he didn’t actually find it funny. Instead, he just watched as her large eyes lit up with happiness as she relayed the story, his smile – while small – encouraging her to continue spouting nonsense.

“Never thought I’d see the day.” Longbottom said from Luna’s other side. Draco startled slightly, having forgotten the Gryffindor was even there. “Draco Malfoy smiling, and at Luna Lovegood of all people.”

“He smiles at me all the time, Neville.” Luna said matter-of-factly, ignoring the way Draco’s cheeks flushed slightly. “He has a wonderful smile, don’t you think? It makes his eyes sparkle.”

Longbottom – Neville, he had to remember that – shook his head in quiet disbelief and stared between the two blondes with that same curiosity from earlier. Draco squirmed and made to turn down a different corridor.

“Are you eating tonight, Draco?” Luna wrapped a hand around his wrist to stop him from leaving. “I heard there’s going to be that cranberry nut roast you like.”

“I’m going to the library right now. I don’t know.”

“Would you like some company?” She rarely asked, instead just forcing him to spend time with her (not that he really minded), so Draco appreciated the question with a renewed sense of wonder. She really did have an innate understanding of others.

“Not tonight, Luna.” He said softly, smiling down at her once more. He didn’t miss the widening of Longbottom’s eyes as he watched the exchange, but his focus remained on the girl before him.

“Okay then. I’ll save you a seat in the hall, just in case.” She squeezed his wrist and her weight shifted slightly as if she were going to stand on the tip of her toes but changed her mind last minute. Draco couldn’t work out why she would do that. Unless. No. She wouldn’t. Would she?

“See you, Malfoy.” Longbottom said as he and Luna continued toward the Entrance Hall where the rest of their friends had gathered. Harry and Ginny were laughing at something Ron had said while Hermione rolled her eyes fondly. Draco saw Luna join in with the laughter, despite not knowing what they were laughing at, and the lilt of her voice followed him as he turned down the other corridor.

***

Draco had every intention to study in the library but quickly found himself outside the large double doors of the infirmary. He’d been avoiding the place for the last week, so it was only natural that as soon as his defences had dropped even just a bit his traitorous feet would take him there. He shouldn’t have let Luna distract him so much – he needed to stay focused on school and studying, not friendship and- and-

Draco cut his train of thought short. He made to turn around and leave, head up to the third floor as he had planned, but something stopped him. He didn’t know if it was the memory of lying alone in the hospital bed for days with none of his so-called friends coming to check up on him, or maybe it was just the guilt of not being able to help sooner, but something made him reach out and open the doors.

The hospital wing was just as he remembered it. Tall walls stretched up and arched into a point from which surprisingly intricate candle chandeliers dangled. Each bed was clean and pressed and spaced out evenly with a privacy screen for each one. The floor looked cold, but Draco knew that Madam Pomfrey charmed it to be warm so that nobody got cold feet in the remarkably cavernous space. The door to her office was closed, the blinds drawn, and Draco faltered for a moment before he remembered the look on her face back in that classroom and decided that she probably wouldn’t mind him being there.

There was a second year holding her stomach and groaning on a cot close to the door, her friend pushing back her hair gently and whispering reassurance. A few beds along, Dean Thomas was sat on the edge of a cot seemingly psyching himself up to take a potion. Dean looked up as Draco passed and the Gryffindor jerked his head in acknowledgement. Draco, surprised, nodded back stiffly and continued on.

In the back left-hand corner of the room, the privacy screens were drawn around a bed. Draco approached as quietly as he could, not wanting to disturb the person on the other side, but soon realised that his worry was not needed. Tom was asleep.

“He’s not woken up yet.” Madam Pomfrey said behind him. Draco didn’t bother to hide his jump at the sound of her voice and moved out of the way so she could stand at the side of Tom’s bed to check his temperature for what Draco assumed was at least the third time that hour. “Sit, boy; if you linger any longer, you’ll be likened to a bad smell.”

Draco didn’t care to tell her that he was certain people already thought of him as such and instead moved to the opposite side of the bed and sat in the uncomfortable chair. He rested his elbows on the arms and laced his fingers together across his middle, twiddling his thumbs.

“ _Will_ he wake up?”

“Eventually.” Madam Pomfrey said, making a note of Tom’s temperature on a piece of parchment she conjured. “He lost a lot of blood, as you know. For someone so young it takes a while to recover.”

Draco nodded. Madam Pomfrey left to tend to her other patients with a warning that visiting was over in two hours. Draco suspected that it was actually over in one, but he didn’t argue. He sat for a while trying to focus on anything but the memory his brain was trying to force on him. Eventually, he reached into his bag and pulled out the potions essay he’d begun in class. He read over what he’d written already and made some edits then continued with ease, using the back of his Arithmancy textbook for support. It wasn’t until Madam Pomfrey came back and scolded him that he realised he’d worked all through dinner – well past the time visiting hours were meant to be over – and was technically not supposed to be out of bed now. The matron wrote him a quick note so that if he were stopped on his way back to his dorm he wouldn’t get in trouble, and then hurried him out of the room.

***

“Hey, Weasley!” Draco called to the redhead across the Transfiguration courtyard the next morning. Ginny extracted herself from her friends (Luna wasn’t there, Draco noted with disappointment) and wandered over with a faux-annoyed look on her face. (It _is_ fake, Draco reassured himself, she said she was your friend – she wouldn’t be annoyed to talk to you). She sat next to him on the low wall around the fountain and prodded his side.

“What’s up, Blondie?”

“Since when has Dean Thomas been back?” He asked, cutting to the chase. Ginny shook her head, her mouth hanging open slightly.

“Of all the people you care to know the first name of...”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Just answer the question.”

She shrugged, “Just this last week, I’m not surprised you didn’t notice given everything that happened on Halloween.”

“Why wasn’t he here before?”

“Seriously, why do you _care_.” Ginny looked genuinely confused, and, if Draco was being honest, he was too. He shrugged his shoulders slightly, feeling mildly uncomfortable and sort of regretting that he asked.

“I don’t know if I do – just curious really.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Luna.” She muttered. Draco willed his face to cool down and cursed his mother’s genes that made him blush so easily. After she didn’t continue, Draco prodded the redhead in the side and snickered when she jumped slightly _(payback)_.

“He was pretty injured after the war. Something to do with his leg. I think he just needed more time to recuperate. I remember Harry saying something – about the school not having the ingredients for one of the potions he takes for it, I think.”

Draco nodded, “That explains why he was in the hospital wing then.”

Ginny snapped her head around and stared at him with concern, “When were you in the hospital wing?”

“Yesterday. I went to see Tom.” He tensed up and didn’t meet her eyes.

“Oh. Cool.” Ginny paused, then asked, “He’s not woken up yet, has he?”

“No.”

Draco thanked the stars that Ginny had at least some tact when she changed the subject back after his short reply.

“Anyway, I don’t think Dean minded too much about the time off. More time for him to spend with Seamus.”

“Seamus?” Draco squinted at the sky trying to remember someone by that name.

“Finnegan?” Ginny said. Draco shook his head. “Irish kid. Blew stuff up a lot.”

He shrugged, “No idea, sorry.”

Ginny’s shoulders shook with light laughter, “Y’know, I’m glad Luna understands you because the rest of us have no hope.”

Draco quickly steered the conversation back, “He and Seamus are close then?”

“I should hope so.” Ginny snorted.

“What do you mean?”

“They’re dating.”

“Really?”

“Yep.” She said, popping the ‘p’. There was a pause, and Draco felt her stare burning into the side of his face. “Problem?”

He turned to look at her, making eye contact, and shook his head, “No, not at all.”

This seemed to startle her, and she let out a surprised bark of laughter, “See, I never would have guessed that. I guess hating someone for their blood is enough though, isn’t it? Don’t need unnecessary additional hatred toward race or sexuality.”

Draco felt like someone had poured ice down his back. His whole body tensed up and he was quickly taking back the thought about the youngest Weasley having tact. He knew it was too good to be true. Nobody had forgiven him – and rightly so! Why should they? He was the lowest of the low. Ginny was right – he did hate people because of their blood. But he didn’t think that anymore, did he? He thought he didn’t care now but what if he’d just been lying to himself. Tricking himself just as he managed to trick everyone else? He wasn’t worth their time let alone their friendship, compassion, or forgiveness. Not Ginny’s and certainly not Luna’s.

“I have to go.”

“I didn’t mean-” Ginny started but Draco stood up and cut her off.

“ _I have to go.”_

“Draco-” She tried to reach out for his arm, but he stepped away in time to avoid being ensnared. He stared across the courtyard and saw Professor McGonagall looking at them, waiting for them to enter the classroom for their lesson. He heard the tell-tale beat of Luna skipping down the corridor and his heart leapt to his throat. He had to get out of there. He couldn’t sit through an hour with people who clearly had every right to hate his guts (and who likely _did_ hate his guts, how could he have been so stupid to think otherwise!?). He made brief eye contact with Professor McGonagall before ducking his head and walking in the opposite direction. He pretended he didn’t see the disappointment in her eyes.

***

“She didn’t mean it, Draco.” Luna whispered to him in Charms that afternoon. They were sat in their usual seats at the back of the classroom, copying down the theory that Flitwick was teaching them. Luna had moved her chair closer to his, to the point where their hips were almost touching, and Draco had been struggling to concentrate all lesson.

“Drop it, Luna.” Draco said back, just as quietly. He sighed when Luna put down her quill, clearly not about to drop the conversation.

“Draco.” She said, trying to get his full attention despite them being in class. She somehow scooted closer still and Draco was forced to stop writing else he’d elbow her. “Please,” she put her hand on his now still arm, right over where _it_ was, and Draco’s breath caught slightly, “she really didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. We know you don’t think like that anymore. Ginny’s mouth sometimes just says stuff before her brain can catch up. Please, Draco – look at me.”

Draco swallowed; his eyes glued to where Luna was now stroking her thumb against his arm. He turned his head to look at her, forgetting how close they were sitting. Draco could feel Luna’s breath on his face, felt her hand still on his arm, saw her eyes dart down and then back up to meet his. He forced his eyes to remain on hers. The light streaming in from the tall windows in the room bounced off of her eyelids and Draco noted that they were covered in a dazzling blue-white glitter that made her eyes sparkle more than usual. Despite his sour mood, he couldn’t help it when the corner of his lips started to turn up at the sight. Luna’s eyes glanced back down and for a split second a thought crossed Draco’s mind, but it was thankfully interrupted before he could do something stupid.

“Mr Malfoy, Miss Lovegood!” Professor Flitwick squeaked from the front of the classroom. The two of them jumped slightly and pulled back from each other, their faces both dusted with light shades of pink. “Please pay attention!”

They turned back to their work. The rest of the lesson continued with no more interruptions. Draco still couldn’t give Flitwick his full attention – every time Luna dipped her quill in the inkwell their arms would brush – but he had enough sense about him to register the essay set. He sighed, just another one to add to the pile. He wasn’t as behind as he had been a week prior (he had a lot of time to get work done when he was avoiding _everyone_ in the castle) but he still had a significant backlog of essays to get done. Who knew you could be set so much work in just two months?

***

The rest of the week passed without anything of significance happening. Draco avoided Ginny as much as he could but that was difficult to do when she was seemingly attached to Luna and Luna was seemingly attached to him. He didn’t quite accept her apology (mainly because he felt he did not deserve it) but by Transfiguration on Friday afternoon he’d actually started to reply to her when she spoke to him. He mainly did it because of the smile that it brought to Luna’s face. Not that he’d admit that.

Saturday morning was spent in Professor McGonagall’s classroom writing up notes from the class he’d missed on Tuesday and finishing off the latest Transfiguration essay. He’d finally caught up in that class and the twinkle in Professor McGonagall’s eye when he handed over the essay made him feel both uncomfortable and proud. He wasn’t used to her liking him – at least, he thinks she likes him. She keeps offering him biscuits, so.

“Mister Malfoy, I’m afraid I have to kick you out now – the game is starting soon, and I must get down to the pitch.” Professor McGonagall said, wrapping a red and gold scarf around her neck as she stepped around her desk.

Draco nodded in acknowledgement and packed the Charms essay he was working on away in his bag. They exited the classroom together but went their separate ways soon after. He made his way to the library – because where else would he be spending his time? – and wasn’t paying attention as he rounded the corner. (In his defence, he had assumed the castle would be practically empty as everyone was at the Quidditch match.)

“Watch where you’re-” He cut himself off when he saw who it was that he had collided with, “Sorry.”

“Are you going to watch the match, Draco?” Luna didn’t seem phased that they had walked into each other, nor did she acknowledge his apology.

“Uh, no I need to write the charms essay.”

“Oh! I can help you if you want! I wrote it the night it was set, and I’ve been meaning to ask someone to read through it. Most of the time the people I ask write rude things in the margins or edit it so heavily that I know I would fail if I handed it in, but I think that you would take it rather seriously. I’ll join you in the library.”

Draco was confused. He glanced at the lion atop her head, “Are you not going to the game?”

“I’d much rather do this.” She said softly with a smile to match.

“Yeah,” he scoffed, still not believing that anyone would voluntarily spend time with him, “and I’d rather stand behind a blast-ended shrewt.”

Luna's face brightened and she ignored the sarcasm that dripped from his words, “I love how much you know about magical creatures! It’s funny because I always heard from Harry that you didn’t like C.F.M.C, especially after beautiful Buckbeak hurt your arm.”

Draco rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling his cheeks redden for the billionth time that week, and stiffly replied, “Don’t change the topic. Go to the game. I don’t need help with my essay.”

“Oh. Okay. See you later, Draco.” Her smile remained but it had dimmed significantly. Draco sighed as he watched her start to walk away, her shoulders drooping.

“…wait,” At the sound of his voice, Luna stopped walking and spun around expectantly. Hope glistened in her eyes. “If, after the game, you still want someone to look over your essay then I-”

“Oh, thank you, Draco! I will cheer loud enough for both of us!” She made her Gryffindor hat roar and Draco smiled in place of reminding her that the match was against Slytherin and if he were to go to the game it wouldn’t have been the red and gold team he was supporting.

***

Gryffindor won.

Draco had hoped that he’d be able to sneak through to his bed that evening after the game but, as he stepped through the large door to the eighth year common room, he realised that his hope was foolish.

The other eighth-years were clearly in the mood to celebrate and had invited some other students along as well. Draco felt extremely out of place in the room as it had been decorated with Gryffindor-themed paraphernalia. He barely had time to register the music (he didn’t know where it was coming from and it didn’t sound like any music he had heard before) when Luna suddenly appeared before him.

Her hair was wild – it clearly hadn’t been brushed since she discarded her lion hat. Without thinking, he reached out a hand and attempted to flatten it slightly. Luna let out a laugh and grabbed at his hand before excitedly recounting the game to him. He didn’t really pay attention to what she was saying – he hadn’t cared for Quidditch in quite a while – but he was entranced by her words, nonetheless. The vigour with which she spoke was enough to get anyone to listen. Despite her enthusiasm, her voice was still light and almost airy, and Draco had to lean in slightly to hear her better.

“-and then Ginny scored _again_ but McGonagall wouldn’t let us count it because Clarke had caught the snitch literally a second before. It’s too bad, really, it would have made Gryffindor’s score three-hundred and fifty, which is a really lovely number unlike Slytherin’s one-hundred and thirty which is just- Oh, I _love_ this song, have you heard it before?”

Draco shook his head, partly to adjust to the sudden change in topic but also in answer to her question.

“I’m not surprised, it’s a muggle song. Would you like to dance?”

“I’d rather not, Luna.” Draco said, shifting back into the corner that he had moved into when Luna had spotted him. She squeezed his hand (and Draco went warm at the realisation that she was still holding it) and shrugged.

“That’s okay, I’m happy just to listen.” She started humming along to the song, quietly singing a few of the lyrics in some places. Draco thought her voice sounded beautiful – much better than Celestina Warbeck by any means - but bit the inside of his cheek so as to not say anything. “ _I still don't know what you've done with me, a grown-up woman should never fall so-_ Ginny!”

Draco’s appreciation for Luna’s voice was abruptly cut short as the blonde called out to her friend who had just emerged from the curtained alcove, Potter exiting soon after with a dopey grin and red lips. Ginny looked up at her name and nodded in acknowledgement. Luna mimed something with her free hand and Ginny nodded again before making her way over to the long table where some food and drinks had been laid out, probably by Dinkly. Draco made a mental note to remember to thank the house-elf the next time he saw her as he wasn’t certain anybody else would.

“Your Butterbeer, madam.” Ginny said dramatically as she handed Luna a bottle. Luna curtsied as she took the drink and Draco huffed out a small laugh at her. Ginny looked at him. “Uh, Terry managed to smuggle in some Firewhiskey but if you want a Butterbeer instead then-”

“Firewhiskey is fine, thanks.” Draco said with a strained smile, taking the bottle from Ginny’s outstretched hand. He took a swig and let the burn in his throat distract him from the fact that Ginny had clearly noticed his and Luna’s joined hands.

“I think Hannah and Susan are wanting to play some muggle games soon – apparently Justin’s come up with some magical way to play one, but I have no idea what it is. Even Harry seems confused, but he’s also excited which is rare nowadays so…” Ginny trailed off, realising that she probably shouldn’t say too much about her boyfriend’s mood around Draco. The blond pointedly looked away as though he wasn’t paying attention in the first place.

“Oh, how lovely!” Luna exclaimed, either blissfully unaware of the tension or not caring to give it the time of day. Draco would place a bet on the latter. “I’ve always wanted to play muggle party games. You can only play so many rounds of pin the horn on the Snorkack, you know?”

Draco and Ginny shared a look and a smile at Luna’s words and almost instantly it was like the past week hadn’t happened. Draco felt comfortable around the redhead again (though still incredibly _un_ comfortable at the party in general), and Ginny no longer looked like he was kicking puppies every time she looked at him. Draco distantly wondered if that was what it was like to have siblings.

“Truth or dare time!” Justin shouted from across the room. The music was turned down and Luna dragged Draco over to one of the sofas, pushing him down into the corner and sitting close to him. The sofa usually sat three people comfortably but there were six of them crammed into it and Draco was forced to put his arm around Luna’s shoulders else he be uncomfortably squished for the rest of the evening. He rested his other arm on the edge of the sofa, his bottle of Firewhiskey gripped tightly in his fist.

“Where on Earth did you get those, Justin?” Hermione asked with a scandalous expression, staring at the vials in Justin’s hands.

It took a second for Draco to realise what it was that the Hufflepuff was holding. In one hand, a seemingly innocent clear liquid and in the other a bright, sparkling gold. Draco’s stomach dropped. Veritaserum and Felix Felicis. There was no _way_ he was playing this game.

“Where or how I got them is on a strictly need-to-know basis, Granger.” Justin said, his smug, slightly sneering, tone surprising Draco. “So, you get asked the question – _truth or dare?_ – and if you choose truth you have to have a drop of Veritaserum and answer whatever question the person asks you, and if you choose dare you take a swig of liquid luck and do the dare. Try and alternate which you choose.”

Everyone seemed excited to get the game started but Draco just felt sick. He was nowhere near comfortable enough to not have complete control over himself right now. Or ever, for that matter. His mood must have shown as he felt Luna shift impossibly closer to him and saw Ginny offer a reassuring nod from the sofa opposite. He didn’t exactly feel calmer about the situation but if he was being forced to play (and it looked like he was) then at least he had them to look out for him. Though, he was still shocked to realise that they actually _would_ look out for him.

Draco zoned out slightly as everyone else started with the game. Harry made Ron do a cartwheel, Hannah Abbott admitted a crush on Neville (who got so flustered that he had to leave the room for a bit), and Justin had Padma try to transfigure the Founders’ portraits to give them moustaches and funny clothes. While Draco didn’t care much for what was happening, he was very aware of Luna giggling beside him. The vibrations of her laughter echoed through his body, only stopping when she had to stand to perform her one dare of the evening – attempt to give Ron a piggyback. They ended up on the floor in a heap of laughter, her small frame having crumpled beneath his gangly limbs within a matter of seconds. Soon enough though, it was Draco’s turn to be humiliated. He chose truth, hoping that they wouldn’t dig too deep.

“How did you know how to heal the kid?” Ron asked with a bitter tone, a vast difference to the joy in his voice moments before. He swigged back some butterbeer but didn’t break eye contact with Draco. Before memories of Tom’s bleeding body could infiltrate his mind, Luna handed Draco the small vial of Veritaserum and their hands brushed slightly, sending that now-familiar shiver up his arm. Draco looked down at the vial, mildly terrified at being under the influence of its contents while in the presence of people he once considered enemies. He took a deep breath, reminded himself that Luna and Ginny would look out for him, and sipped at the potion. He didn’t feel any different but, when Ron repeated the question, he was opening his mouth before he’d even thought about it.

“Severus taught me after Potter used the spell on me in sixth year.”

“Severus.” Ron snorted, then scowled at the genuine humour he felt in regard to the Slytherin’s statement. Besides the ginger boy, Harry squirmed and apologised quietly for what Draco felt was the thirtieth time that week but was probably only the second or third. A questioning look came over Harry’s face.

“Wait,” He said, leaning forward, “Snape didn’t even include the counter curse in the book. I believe that he taught you it, but how did you know to use dittany so Tom wouldn’t scar? Sorry but I doubt he cared enough to tell you that.”

The potion still working its ways through Draco’s veins, he once again spoke without thinking. “Worked that one out the hard way, Potter.” He tapped his bottle of fire-whiskey against his chest, where his scars itched beneath his shirt, then tipped it at the-boy-who-lived and took a large gulp, trying to push the Veritaserum out of his system.

“I think it’s your turn to ask, Draco.” Luna said quietly from beside him after no one spoke for a few minutes. He looked over at Ginny.

“What is it then? Truth or dare, Weasel-ette?” Ginny rolled her eyes at what used to be an insult, but now sounded almost endearing, and boldly claimed _dare_. Draco muttered something about _typical Gryffindors_ which earned a small giggle from Luna. Draco turned to look at her and lowered his voice, “Any ideas?”

“Get her to eat a handful of peppermint toads.” Luna said back conspiratorially, with a small grin on her face and leaning forward excitedly.

“Oi! No scheming!” Ginny threw a cushion at them which knocked their heads together, Luna’s nose squishing into Draco’s cheek. His breath hitched and he pulled back sharply. He grabbed the cushion and launched it back at the redhead. Luna giggled when Ginny ducked and the cushion instead hit Harry in the face, causing his glasses to snap. Draco swore under his breath and, before he’d even thought about the implications, waved his hand at the spectacles. Harry held the now fixed glasses up in the air.

“Ginny wasn’t lying then.” He said with a cheeky grin, earning a slap to the arm from his girlfriend.

“Ah. No.” Draco tried to sink further into the sofa, but it was too crowded to do so. Instead, he just managed to knock Luna closer to him.

“How’d you learn to do that?” Terry Boot asked with a disgusted look on his face. Beside him, Susan Bones had grown pale.

“None of your business, Boot.”

“It’s just that, given your history, I don’t think it’s very safe for-”

“Oh, lay off it will you?” Ron’s voice startled everyone. He didn’t sound angry, not like he would if someone were attacking Harry or Hermione or even Neville, but there was a slight edge to his voice that shocked Draco. Less than twenty minutes ago the Gryffindor was (however unknowingly) digging into Draco’s trauma and now he was defending him – it didn’t make much sense, but Draco wasn’t about to complain.

“I’m just saying-” Terry tried to continue.

“What you’re saying is that people shouldn’t be given second chances, which is rather close-minded for a Ravenclaw. Stop making such a big deal about it.” Ginny spoke up, glaring at Terry from across the room.

“I’m not making it a big deal – he has the mark!”

Harry leaned around Ginny so he could look at the Ravenclaw, “Mate, c’mon. You’ve been sleeping in the same room as him for two months; he’s clearly not going to hurt you.”

Draco was shocked that the Gryffindors were defending him. He felt Luna shift slightly and for a second he was worried that she was going to leave – that it had finally hit her who she was next to, who she was befriending – but instead she lifted her hand and placed it on his knee. He knew it was meant to be comforting, reassuring, (and it was, to an extent) but he mainly just felt that weird feeling from Halloween again.

“Whatever.” Terry muttered, standing up and stalking off to the dormitories. Susan looked like she also wanted to leave but Hannah wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders, and she seemed to relax enough. The bottle of Firewhiskey that was pushed into her hands seemed to help too. Draco took another gulp of his own.

“You still need to come up with a dare for Ginny, Draco.” Luna said softly after a few minutes of silence, squeezing his knee. He stared at her hand.

“I don’t think I want to continue playing, Luna.”

Ron cleared his throat awkwardly, “Nah, c’mon mate,” His voice strained around the word, “a few more rounds, yeah?”

Draco did relax as the game went on, however unwillingly. He chose truth each time, not wanting to make a fool of himself by doing a dare and trusting that Luna and Ginny would stop any questions from getting too personal after Ron’s initial inquiry. Speaking of the two girls: Luna revealed that she sometimes thought her father spoke nonsense, that her favourite Professor was (unsurprisingly) Hagrid, and that she could walk on her hands for an alarming amount of time; Ginny told everyone that she really _was_ the one to send Harry the singing valentine (Draco felt slightly victorious at that but his mind supplied him with how vicious he’d been about it at the time and he felt a bit dizzy) and that she cheated on her Charms OWLs. She also revealed her favourite brother, per Ron’s request. The room got a bit quiet again after that one.

“Choose a dare this time Malfoy. I knew you snakes were cowards, but this is a bit extreme.” Ginny spoke up, trying to break the tension that had settled. She laughed when Draco put his middle finger up at her, but he conceded nonetheless, finally feeling comfortable enough to say _dare_. “I dare you to… damn I didn’t think this far.”

“I’ve got one.” Ron said suddenly. Everyone turned to him and Draco tensed up slightly. Ron let out a bark of laughter, “No need to look like I killed your owl mate. I was going to suggest that you try and steal a telescope from the Astronomy Tower. Take someone with you so we know you didn’t just transfigure something or accio one.”

Draco’s stomach dropped.

The Astronomy Tower.

_Don’t you understand?_

No way.

_I have to do this._

He couldn’t go there.

_I have to kill you._

Anywhere but there.

O _r he’s going to kill me._

The Firewhiskey rolled around in his stomach, threatening to shoot back up his throat. Of course, Weasley would want to send him to the Astronomy Tower; he obviously knew what happened there – everyone did, and aside from that he’s Potter’s best friend – and he wants Draco to face it. To face the fact that he was going to- that he almost became a-

He took a deep breath. And another. And another. His hands were shaking but the most he could do was grip his bottle tighter in one hand and dig his nails into the palm of the other. He needed to get out of there. But he couldn’t move. He distantly heard someone say his name, but he couldn’t work out who it was, and his vision was simultaneously blurring and hyper-focusing on his knee where a hand was resting.

A hand. Luna’s hand. It was still there, resting on his knee as if he weren’t the worst person to ever have existed. And maybe he wasn’t. If Luna Lovegood, of all people, thought he was safe to be around, worthy to be around, then maybe he wasn’t as bad as his brain made him think.

“Do you have plans for Christmas, Draco?” Luna asked suddenly, knocking Draco’s thoughts askew and forcing him to focus on the conversation. She stared at him with those too-large eyes and waited patiently for his answer.

“Uh,” Draco cleared his throat awkwardly, noticing how everyone was either staring at him or pointedly avoiding eye-contact. Nobody mentioned the change in topic. “Nothing special. I suspect my mother will visit father but that’s it.”

“He has visiting rights now?” Hermione clearly hadn’t meant to say that out loud if her wide eyes and hand-covered mouth were any indication.

“Yes,” Draco was going to leave it at that, truly he was, but he was having a bit of an adrenaline rush from the almost-panic attack. That, in addition to the lingering effects of Veritaserum, caused him to internally curse as he continued, “He was granted visiting rights the same day they put my mother on house-arrest. Bit of a coincidence, don’t you think? Anyway, mother’s house arrest lets up on Christmas Eve, although she does need a ministry escort whenever she wants to leave the manor for the next two years.”

Luna cocked her head to the side and innocently asked, “Were you on house arrest, Draco?”

Draco was getting sick of this conversation, “No, but almost. If it weren’t for Potter, I’d probably be alone in the Manor right now, my mother would be in Azkaban, and my father dead.”

The room went silent and Draco took his classmates’ shock as an opportunity to finally leave. Just as he placed his hand on the dormitory door (praying slightly that Boot had already fallen asleep), Luna’s light voice called out again.

“You’re welcome to join daddy and I for Christmas, Draco.” She paid no mind to the hurried whispers of her friends and kept her gaze on Draco, who couldn’t help but stare back this time.

“I don’t think my mother would like that very much, Luna,” He knew he was letting too much emotion into his voice – that it was uncharacteristically soft – from the way that Harry, Ron, and Hermione gaped at him, “Thank you, though.” He nodded once at her and watched as her bright smile dimmed just a little before he closed the door behind himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> And stay safe people :)


	9. The Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco spends too much of his time worrying about Tom and not enough time worrying about himself but are we surprised at this point?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been like just over a month since the last update sorry lmao but stick around until the end (or just skip to the end notes, I can't control you) for a fun lil announcement :)
> 
> Fun fact: The lake scene in this chapter was the first scene I ever wrote for this fic.

November passed by in a blur.

Draco spent every day after lessons sat in the infirmary, checking on Tom – who was still yet to wake up – and being tutored by Luna. She’d taken to joining him after just a few days of solitary waiting and soon after started to sneak in small lessons surrounding their shared classes. Draco’s favourite was Charms; Luna was exceptional at the subject and watching her gush about the theory was just as mesmerising as seeing her perform the magic.

“-just as simple as Leviosa but not nearly as popular.” Luna rambled on, waving her hands around and almost dislodging her wand from behind her ear. “Still, we’ll probably need to know it for the exam and even if we don’t it’s still fun to learn!”

“Fun,” Draco said, staring at her over the edge of his book, “but not necessary. I need to focus on-”

The two blonds paused as Tom groaned in his – sleep? Coma? Even Madame Pomfrey wasn’t too sure. The first year had been grumbling for the past few days, never anything coherent but at least they knew he was alive. Draco was sure it meant he would wake up soon but everyone else seemed apprehensive to agree.

Luna jumped down from where she had perched at the end of the bed and sat on the floor next the Draco’s chair, rested her head on his knee, and stared at Tom with sad eyes. Draco closed his book and stared too.

“He’ll wake up soon.” Draco said quietly. “Before Christmas.” He didn’t quiet believe himself at this point.

“I hope he does.” Luna turned so her chin was propped up on his thigh and her large eyes were gazing up at him. “You spend far too much time worrying about him and not about your essays. Madame Pomfrey has it under control.”

Draco rolled his eyes and opened his book back up. He couldn’t focus on the words on the page though. Instead, his mind was drawn back to Tom. Luna was right; he spent too much time worrying about the boy. But how could he not when if it weren’t for him being…what he was… in sixth year, Potter never would have used that damn spell, and nobody would have ever known about it?

He could blame Severus, of course he could, and even the boy-wonder himself had to take some of the credit. But when it came down to it, he was the reason the spell was general knowledge. His actions lead to the spell being used – not Severus’, despite being the inventor, and not Potter’s. If he voiced any of this to Luna – or anyone, for that matter – he knew he’d be met with objections, but they’d be lying to themselves.

***

“Shall we move on to DADA? Williamson set some practical homework this week, remember?” Luna asked a week and a half later.

Draco shrugged, too busy looking at the snow falling outside to bother with a verbal response. It was coming down slowly, lazily, as if it had better places to be but felt drawn to this place in particular anyway. He’d never felt so connected to weather before.

“Practising it in here will probably be a wise idea. If anything goes wrong, then Pomfrey can stitch us up.” Dean Thomas said with a huff of awkward laughter. The Gryffindor had joined them in their study sessions around a week earlier, having watched from afar as he took his potion every day. He needed help catching up and surprisingly (for Draco, but literally nobody else) he had all the same classes as the two of them combined. Draco was reluctantly impressed that Dean managed to take on such a heavy workload while unwell; he knew even Granger wouldn’t dare risk her health to her academics.

“Draco?” Luna asked quietly, resting a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off, continued to stare out the window.

“How is Pomfrey okay with us practising in here, anyway?” Dean steered the conversation back, noticing that Draco wasn’t in the mood to talk. Draco didn’t know how to feel about being read so quickly and so effortlessly by someone who he’d barely spoken a word to until six days ago.

Luna sat at the end of Tom’s bed and pulled the books on the small end table closer to her, “She said as long as we keep it sensible then it’s fine. The external simulation might help Tom, apparently.”

“Oh, cool, how did she figure that one out?”

“Draco told us, actually. Didn’t you, Draco?” Luna turned to look at him. He glanced at her, but quickly moved his gaze along to Dean who standing at the end of the bed doing some stretches.

“You’re doing that wrong.” He said, gesturing to where Dean was lifting his leg out to the side.

“Uh, am I?” The Gryffindor asked, looking at his own leg in confusion.

Draco stood up and took the few steps over to him, crouching down by Dean’s raised foot without thought.

“You want to point your foot, like this-” He held Dean’s ankle and gently moved his foot into position, “that way you stretch the muscles and tendons properly. Also, keep your shoulders back-” He stood and slowly pulled Dean’s shoulder’s straight, “and hold on to the table to keep your balance. Try it now.”

Dean did, and his face gave away just how good the advice had been. He did it a few more times then changed to his left leg and repeated the movement. He shook his head in disbelief and breathed out a laugh.

“How on Earth did you know that?”

“I, uh- I read, I guess.” He wasn’t lying – he’d always read anything he could get his hands on and it just so happened that his grandmother on his father’s side had a superb collection of medical books.

“It feels so much better already – not as tight.” Dean smiled gratefully.

“Yes, well.” Draco coughed awkwardly, looked at Luna for some assistance. She was already looking back at him, a small, proud smile on her face. Draco coughed again, “So, DADA?”

***

Draco was so sick of his classes. How could he be expected to sit and focus on meaningless Transfiguration theory when a young boy was possibly dying? He was furious that nobody was doing anything more, and he was disgusted that they were getting on with their lives like nothing had happened in the first place. On top of that, nobody would tell him what had happened with Moritz so that cretin of a third-year could quite possibly still be roaming the halls of Hogwarts. He doubted it, but it was still a possibility.

If Draco had his way, then Moritz would be spending a night in Azkaban to ward him off of using such a spell again. Perhaps a week would be better. Although the twisted kid would probably enjoy such a place. Yes, maybe a week working in Madam Puddifoot’s would be better punishment.

“Mister Malfoy, I do hope you’re paying attention.” Professor McGonagall said as she walked past his desk – now in the middle of the class, as they agreed it would probably help him engage more.

“Of course, Professor.” He said, not without a sneer. She was the worst offender of all. Headmistress of Hogwarts, one of her students knocked out in bed for over a month, and yet all she seems to care about is if he’s paying attention in class.

“See me after class, Mister Malfoy.”

Draco rolled his eyes, “I have Arithmancy.”

“I will write you a note.” Professor McGonagall returned to the front of the class with a swish of her cape that was not unlike Severus’. Draco’s stomach swirled slightly but he pushed the feeling down in favour of the anger still boiling under his skin.

The rest of the lesson drifted by like the wet, heavy, snow outside the window. By the time it was reaching the ground it had more or-less turned to water, causing the grass to be soaked through and the paths to be covered in sludge. It was rather unsightly.

“I really do have Arithmancy.” Draco said as the last student filed out the classroom, leaving him and Professor McGonagall alone.

“I’m aware, Mister Malfoy. You were doing well in lessons, what’s happened?” She cut right to the chase, no biscuits.

Draco twisted his hand in the strap of his bag and shifted his weight. He stared out the tall windows to his left and stayed silent. What is it Luna said her mother taught her? _If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all._

“I do not need to remind you that this was your final chance.” Professor McGonagall stared at him over the top of her glasses.

“I’m not failing.” Draco replied stiffly.

“You’re not participating, you’re beginning to slack again, and your attitude is not unlike how you acted in fifth year.” His stomach clenched and his mind screamed. “This was your final chance, Draco, I advise you _not_ to ruin it.”

“Ruin it!?” He raised his voice out of disbelief and couldn’t find it in himself to lower it again. “I have done everything in my power to do better. _Everything_. I’ve got a tutor, I’ve been getting _ahead_ in my homework, I’ve even stopped writing my mother just so I could get another fifteen minutes of studying in. I do all of this _and_ sit by his bedside every single day waiting for him to wake up. And what does everyone else do? They act like he was never here in the first place. _You_ act like he was never here! Not once have you visited him whilst I’ve been there. Not once have I heard of anyone delivering you a message about how he’s doing. You’re the _Headmistress_ , but instead of student wellbeing you seem far too focused on my – just one student’s – academic achievement. He could be _dying_. I could have _died_ and yet nobody in this school cared, apart from Severus. If he were here, Tom would be safe – awake already, probably. But he’s not. He’s not and it’s not fair and I could have _died and why does no one care-_ ”

Draco cut himself off with a gasp for air. Before Professor McGonagall could say anything, he spun on his heel and ran from the room. He raced through the corridors, past the staircase up to the Arithmancy classrooms, and pushed through the main doors.

The cold hit him like firebolt, and he took another shuddering breath just to feel the icy air spike in his lungs. It was grounding enough to push the last of the tears from his eyes so that he could make his way to the edge of the lake with clear vision.

The ground beneath the large tree at the edge of the lake was mostly devoid of any weird rain-snow and Draco sat down on the cold, wet ground with a thud. He ripped his bag off as if it were constricting his breathing and shucked off his blazer so fast and with such aggression that anyone watching would think it was on fire. It was around two degrees outside, and he felt the chill immediately but there were too many layers – too many things holding him down, suffocating him, pushing him deeper and deeper into a place full of nightmares.

He waved his wand and a small ball of blue flames popped into existence.

***

“Your robes are dirty.” Luna’s voice drifted over to him and it really spoke of the amount of time they had spent together that he didn’t so much as flinch at her sudden presence. He shifted slightly, made the flames grow a little bigger to accommodate for the extra person.

“That’s the price you pay for some peace and quiet, I guess.” He didn’t correct her about his uniform. His words implied he wanted to be left alone, but his tone conveyed a tiredness that only a friend could relieve. Luna sat down next to him at the edge of the Black Lake, placing her bags delicately in the mud as if that would prevent them from becoming filthy. He glanced at the bags, wondering why she needed so many.

“One has my schoolbooks, one has food for the thestrals, and the other has some art supplies in them.” She wasn’t looking at him but somehow knew what he was thinking. It’s funny how these things work out. Just six months ago Draco would have probably sneered in someone’s face if they told him that Luna Lovegood would become his closest friend.

There were only two people in the world that he considered his friends before: his mother and Pansy Parkinson. Pansy always tried to cross the line of friendship – and admittedly they had done, a few times – but she’d turned her back on him when he swapped sides in the war. He knows that if anyone were to be asked, they would say that Crabbe and Goyle were his closest friends but truly they were more like henchmen. He had tried, in first and second year, to be real friends with them like his mother had suggested but they simply were not compatible with him. As in, they were stupid. That didn’t stop Crabbe’s death haunting him though. It didn’t make the pain of Goyle blaming him go away.

“You’re an artist?” Draco knew that it had been a few minutes of silence as he contemplated his pitiful friendships but that did not seem to faze Luna. She had pulled out what seemed to be large scrap pieces of parchment and was trying to balance them on her knees as she drew. The surface was obviously not hard enough, making her lines wobbly, and Draco made a mental reminder to write to his mother and ask what spell it was that she used to steady her own writing.

“I draw. I’m not surprised you haven’t noticed.” Luna swirled a pencil over the parchment in what seemed to be a nonsensical pattern. “It’s quite relaxing; you should try it some time.”

She went to put the pencil behind her left ear and accidently knocked her wand out and onto the ground. Draco leant over to grab it, realising that Luna didn’t even register that she had replaced one wooden stick with the other. She was now looking at the parchment very intently, holding it out in front of her as if it were a map and she was on a great expedition. Luna’s face scrunched up and she reached up for her pencil again, returning to her drawing as if the fate of the universe depended on her graphite shapes.

Draco was cautious, holding someone else’s wand. Ever since the Elder Wand he wasn’t too sure what it took for a wand to change allegiance. He didn’t want to just leave Luna’s lying on the ground; it would get incredibly muddy and knowing the ditsy Ravenclaw she’d either forget it or break it. He stared at it in his hand for a moment more before taking a deep breath and deciding to put it back where it came from. They were friends, right? She couldn’t exactly get mad if he touched her hair; Ginny did it all the time.

“Draco, do you know any –” Luna cut herself off as she turned her head.

Draco’s hand was suspended in the air as he had been midway through returning her wand. He was about to let his hand drop, mutter some excuse and give her wand back like a normal person would when something sparked inside him. _Draco Malfoy does not back down_. He took a deep, subtle breath and moved his hand towards its original destination. Draco pushed Luna’s hair back and tucked the wand neatly behind her ear in one swift motion. His hand lingered, he was man enough to admit, but not for too long. He coughed awkwardly as Luna’s large, all-seeing eyes, didn’t look away.

“I… It had- it-” Draco stumbled a bit over his words, feeling his face warm slightly and cursing himself internally for his deteriorating suaveness. He settled on, “It fell.”

Luna giggled and resumed her drawing as if nothing had happened. Draco was thankful but frustrated. _Why had he done that?_ His mother would surely know. _But could he confide this in her?_ He had not revealed much to her of his friendship with Luna, just that they were talking somewhat frequently. He didn’t think it would be easy to explain in writing. _But why not?_ Draco had no problem in telling his mother about Pansy back in first year. Although when Pansy had asked him to the Yule Ball it had taken him four weeks to tell his mother. Four weeks that gave his ‘friends’ enough time to ditch the whole date idea and dare each other to ask out students from other houses. Of course, Draco’s parents still think he attended with Pansy. In fact, he’s pretty sure the whole school thought that the two were an item. He guessed that perhaps their dancing at the ball did not help. As if fourteen-year-old Draco would have been seen dancing with his actual date though. He sighed at the memory of ignoring her.

Luna balanced her parchment on top of her bags with a precision usually reserved for potion making. She turned to him with a curiosity that seemed only to reside in a Ravenclaw’s eyes and asked, “What have you been thinking so dreadfully hard about, Draco?”

“The Yule Ball.” He saw no point in lying to her. He would feel so guilty about it that he’d end up telling her in a few days – if not hours (minutes, seconds)– anyway so, really, what good would it do?

“Oh.” While Luna did not look away from him, or move at all for that matter, he felt a sudden distance between them.

“I’m sorry,” His words startled even himself, “It was cruel, what I did. I wish I could take it back. You didn’t deserve it.”

Luna’s hand placed itself delicately on top of his and – because he was feeling particularly masochistic that day – he let it stay there, “I know that it was largely your friend’s fault, Draco. You were fourteen, you didn’t know any better. I don’t blame you.”

He pulled his hand back, letting hers fall into the dirt, “No, I need you to blame me. You don’t understand, so many people have given me a free pass because I helped Potter, or they think I was abused by my father, but they shouldn’t! I need to own up to my mistakes! How can I make amends and seek true forgiveness when nobody blames me?”

Luna lifted her other hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh. Draco stared at her incredulously and was about to go on another small rant about being taken seriously when she giggled out, “Draco, that is so stupid.”

Draco couldn’t believe it. He was about to stand up and walk away when her voice stopped him, “Draco. Oh, Draco,” she was still laughing, “What is so wrong with people forgiving you of their own accord?”

He paused, trying to find a way to explain himself. He opened his mouth a few times, an argument forming on his tongue, but each time a tiny voice in his brain (that sounded an awful lot like the Ravenclaw in front of him) counteracted it. He shook his head, a small smile finding its way onto his face despite his protests.

“You know what, Luna? I honestly do not have an argument for that.”

“That’s a first.” He couldn’t believe how snarky she had become in the past hour; she had definitely been hanging out with him too much. Still, it wasn’t a bad look on her. He turned his head toward her to find her large eyes already gazing back at him. He smirked and leaned in conspiratorially.

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” He stage-whispered, and something in the back of his mind faintly called out to him that he was _flirting_ , “I only argue with you to be a nuisance.”

Luna threw her head back and burst into such delighted laughter that Draco couldn’t help but smile wider. She lifted her hand from where it rested in the dirt and pushed his face away playfully. He chuckled quietly to himself, lifting his gaze to the tops of the trees across the body of water. A bird flew out from behind one of the tall fir trees and swooped down over the water. Luna laughed giddily as it did a loop in the air. He smiled again, a blanket of calm drifting over him.

***

"It's going to rain again," Luna said over an hour later. Draco opened his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows from where he had lay down in the cold dirt. His father would be mortified at the state of him. He looked at the sky, now clear blue staring back, daring him to question its authenticity.

"How can you tell? There's not a cloud in sight."

Luna started to gather up her things, Scorgifying their clothes as she went, "The Grindylows are swimming deeper. In recent years they’ve evolved to sense when it’s about to rain because they don't like the noise of it hitting the surface of the water."

Draco raised an eyebrow, "And how would you know this?" He asked with a doubtful smirk, but followed her back up to the castle, nonetheless.

"Daddy kept one as a pet a few years ago. She lived in a tank by a window. Whenever it rained, she wouldn't stop hitting the glass until one of us moved her and closed the curtains. She didn't even like looking at it." Her voice got quieter as she started to skip further ahead. Some of her parchment pieces flew out behind her and Draco had to hurry his steps in order to catch them before they hit the sludgy ground. His efforts were pointless though, as once she arrived at the doors of the castle Luna unceremoniously dumped all her things on the wet stone to push open the heavy oak with both hands. He sighed as he heaved the bags off the floor and stepped into the castle after her.

"Perhaps it was just your Grindylow? I highly doubt that they would have evolved that much since their discovery in-" His unfathomable need to impress her with his knowledge of magical creatures was cut off by a sudden rumble; it felt almost as if it were shaking the castle. He gazed up at the grey sky as the doors swung shut behind them, whipping his head back round to Luna in perfect sync with the loud slam of the oak.

"You really do amaze me, Luna Lovegood." Draco practically whispered the words, but Luna still heard them over the sound of heavy raindrops hitting the windows. She smiled in that soft way she always did. Draco thought that, just for a moment, he was going to do something incredibly stupid, but – just like a month ago in Charms – he was interrupted.

"Luna!" Ginny stalked up to them in the least threatening way Draco had ever seen someone stalk, "Where have you been? We had that test in the second half of Magical Creatures and you missed it! You just disappeared!"

Draco's focus shifted back to Luna who simply shrugged and reached out toward him. He stiffened slightly, thinking she was about to take his hand when he remembered he was still holding her bags. He awkwardly held them out to her, trying not to draw attention to his act of kindness. Ginny would make fun of him for it for at least a week.

“You had a test?” Draco asked, trying to keep the focus on the conversation.

“Yes,” Luna said. Both Draco and Ginny looked at her expectantly and the Ravenclaw glanced at her redheaded friend before addressing Draco more directly, “You were alone. And clearly upset. I can redo the test; we can’t redo this afternoon. Especially since we ruined all those time turners in fifth– ow!”

Luna’s kind words were cut off by Ginny punching her in the arm, “Anyway…” she drew out the word, taking Luna’s arm, and guiding her away. “It’s nice to see that you’re being a good influence, loser.” She smirked over her shoulder.

Draco watched as Luna seemingly berated Ginny as they continued on their way down the hall. Luna looked past Ginny to smile at him just as they disappeared around the corner. He lifted his hand in a wave then turned and made his way up the stairs to the infirmary.

***

Tom wasn’t alone when Draco walked into the large room. Madam Pomfrey was doing her daily rounds: checking the young boy’s pulse, conducting a pupillary assessment, and freshening him up with a wave of her wand. Draco wondered how muggles kept their patients clean without magic and shuddered at the thought. As he got closer to the bed – still in the far corner of the infirmary – Madam Pomfrey moved back to her room to reveal Harry Potter sat in Draco’s chair.

“What are you doing here?” Draco asked with a sneer, stepping up to the chair and dumping his bag on the ground beside it. Harry stood up slowly, warily almost, as if Draco were a hippogriff that needed to be approached with caution.

“I heard about your conversation with McGonagall. Just, wanted to see how you were doing, I guess.” Harry shrugged. “Ron says I shouldn’t bother but between you and me he looked concerned as well.”

“Weasley knows too?” Draco asked, slumping into the vacated chair. “Brilliant. Just what I needed. _You_ want to know how _I’m_ doing? I’m fine. You can leave now.”

Harry didn’t. He sat at the end of Tom’s bed ( _That’s Luna’s spot_ , Draco’s mind supplied) and crossed his arms across his chest.

“I know I’ve said it a lot lately, probably so much that it’s lost it’s meaning but- I am sorry, Malfoy. I didn’t know what the spell did. If I knew I-”

“Look, Potter, I don’t care. You’re sorry, I get it. Goodbye.”

“You do realise you can’t kick me out, right? This is a public area of the school.”

Draco didn’t say anything, just crossed his own arms and turned his head to glare out the window. He heard Harry sigh but there was no sound to indicate the chosen one had left.

“He’ll wake up s-”

“I know.” Draco cut him off, the glare shifting to concern as he moved his gaze to the young Slytherin.

“When you… afterwards… did you-” Harry couldn’t seem to find the right words, but Draco wasn’t about to help him out. He didn’t want to have this conversation; he wasn’t about to keep it going. Harry cleared his throat, “No one visited you?”

Draco sighed. This _really_ wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have, especially with Harry Potter of all people.

“You don’t – you don’t have to tell me, obviously.” Harry shrugged. “Just thought it might help.”

A long silence stretched out across the room. All the other beds were empty, and Madam Pomfrey’s door was shut tight. Apart from Tom, Draco and Harry were the only people in the cavernous space. When Draco shifted in his chair the wood squeaked, it’s echo smashing the silence and urging him to speak.

“I only remember Severus.” He spoke slowly, carefully. “My friends were- well, we weren’t exactly close at the time. There were…other things getting in the way. Things they couldn’t understand.”

Harry nodded, “The plan to kill-”

“Yes.” Draco cut the chosen one off yet again. “That.”

Harry opened his mouth to speak – probably to apologise again – but quickly shut it when a third voice joined the conversation.

It was small, barely audible, and so, so young.

“Madam Pomfrey!” Harry called as Draco stood and moved closer to Tom’s side.

The boy was as still as ever but a sweat had broken out along his forehead and his brow was furrowed slightly. Madam Pomfrey rushed out of her office and started waving her wand over Tom.

“It’s not doing anything.” Draco said, pushing Tom’s hair back off his forehead. Harry, who was now stood beside Madam Pomfrey, lifted his wand to help but Draco shot out a hand and held onto his wrist, “Don’t. It won’t help.” He turned his gaze to Madam Pomfrey, “He’s not in pain. I think he’s dreaming.”

“Dreaming?” Harry asked dubiously. He looked to Madam Pomfrey for confirmation, but the nurse was too busy watching Draco to notice. In turn, Draco was watching Tom, waiting for the first year to say something else in his sleep. They didn’t have to wait long.

“Al…” his voice trailed off to just as quiet as before and the three of them leaned in slightly to hear better. “Alby… Alban… _Albania_.”

It was barely a whisper but in the silence of the infirmary they could hear it clear as day.

“Dreams,” Madam Pomfrey said with a huff, “They never make any sense.” She turned back to her room swiftly, the door closing shut behind her with a click.

Draco looked at Harry, who was staring at Tom with clear confusion on his face and…was that fear?

“Any ideas?” Draco asked with a raised eyebrow.

Harry looked up at him sharply, “One.” He shook his head, stared at Tom again, then turned to leave, “I just hope I’m wrong.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooOOOoo a cliffhanger, how dare I ?!?!
> 
> LMK what you think is happening! And just what you thought of the chapter in general :))
> 
> So that fun lil announcement: You're getting a Christmas chapter!  
> I've got quite a bit of it written already and it's not going to be a filler-chapter - it will help move the plot along! I'll upload it between the 24th and the 31st, sorry I can't guarantee xmas day. Happy holidays :)
> 
> Oh, also, if I haven't said this already: Trans rights are human rights. Trans women are women. Trans men are men. Non-binary people are non-binary. If you disagree with this then do not engage with this fic.


	10. Christmas At The Burrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco spends Christmas at the Burrow, what could possibly go wrong...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay yes I'm an awful person, this is three days late, BUT it's also THIRTEEN THOUSAND words so I feel like I get a pass.
> 
> I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/Non-Denominational holiday and I wish you all the best in this new year :)))
> 
> I read through this so many times so if you see any mistakes, no you didn't <3

Draco hadn’t seen Harry in almost a week. There were only four days left until the Christmas holidays and he’d heard nothing more on Potter’s theory about Tom. Even McGonagall had been easing up on the talks after class because the few times she’d asked him to stay he’d spent ten minutes bombarding her with questions about the young Slytherin.

He’d still been visiting every day but, just like before, only Luna and Dean kept him company. He wasn’t being told anything more about Tom’s condition, and the boy hadn’t spoken another word since he mentioned Albania, but he kept visiting, kept sitting by the bedside hoping for change.

It was eleven o’clock at night – an hour after curfew – and Madame Pomfrey was finally kicking him out. He’d been sat staring out the window since Luna and Dean had left and the matron decided that he could do the exact same thing in his dormitory – where he was supposed to be.

He made quick work of getting back to the eighth-year common room. It was empty, the rest of the year group likely sleeping already, tired from relentless studying and doing last-minute homework before the holidays. Draco considered going to bed too, but he knew he’d just lie awake for hours and the beds weren’t actually very comfortable after around twenty minutes of lying in the same position (and Merlin forbid he move and wake up one of his dormmates; that would be more awkward than Hagrid trying to dance with Flitwick). Instead, he made his way across the common room to the alcove.

He hadn’t actually been back there since the night Tom was hurt. He hadn’t been consciously avoiding it, but he realised as he sat down on the cold bench that perhaps his subconscious was doing its job and protecting him for once. He was sure that Luna would correct him about the role of the subconscious, and he let a small smile grow on his face as he leaned back against the glass wall, thinking of the Ravenclaw.

She’d been more present than usual, ever since their afternoon by the lake. It was odd; Pansy had been much the same back in fourth year, but he’d describe her behaviour as _clingy_. Luna wasn’t clingy. She was just, _there_ , all the time. And he didn’t mind. In fact, recently he’d started to encourage it slightly. Whereas before he’d say he was indifferent about her joining him when he visited Tom, now he would specifically ask her too. If only to see the smile that graced her features when the words left his mouth.

She was also just…closer to him than before. Physically, that is. In Charms her chair was now seemingly permanently touching his, their arms brushing at every stroke of the quill. She also relinquished her seat at the end of Tom’s bed to Dean and now exclusively sits on the floor by Draco’s chair, hand resting on his ankle or head leaning on his knee. Draco was grateful that Dean never said anything about it because he honestly wouldn’t know what to say in return. In fact-

Draco’s train of thought was interrupted by the sound of the common room scraping along the stone floor. He listened carefully to the new person’s footsteps, his shoulders a hard line. As they grew a bit quieter, indicating that they were heading toward the dorms, he relaxed, content in thinking they weren’t going to come near the alcove. But just as quickly as the main door opened, the door to what Draco suspected was the boy’s dorm creaked and an extra pair of footsteps joined the first to head into the common room.

“Errol only just arrived with a letter; I don’t know when she sent it, but she said to floo as soon as I read it.” Ginny’s quiet voice travelled across the empty room. Draco rolled his eyes; of course, it was Ginny, she spent more time in the eighth-year common room than all the returning students put together.

“Do you think she’ll be awake?” Harry replied. Before Draco could whip open the curtain and demand answers about Tom, the boy who lived continued, “This is a good sign, right? She wouldn’t want to floo unless she was considering it, would she?”

“I don’t know, Harry.” Ginny sounded apprehensive like she didn’t want to let herself believe the same as Harry. “I’ve known her for seventeen years and I still can’t predict her reactions to things. Let’s just…”

Ginny’s voice trailed off and was soon replaced by the sound of an older one.

“Has Errol only just arrived? That stupid bird, he’ll end up on the cover of _Witch Weekly_ before he manages to deliver a letter on time. Honestly, what was your father thinking when-”

“Mum!” Ginny interrupted Mrs Weasley’s rant about what Draco suspected was the family owl. “I’m out past curfew, this needs to hurry.”

Harry, Mrs Weasley, and Draco all scoffed simultaneously – Ginny didn’t care about curfew.

“Yes, yes, well,” Draco imagined the Weasley matriarch was waving her hand dismissively. “I must say, Ginevra, your letter surprised me. It’s not every day that your daughter asks to have a Deatheater over for Christmas.”

Draco’s blood ran cold.

“Ex, mum. Ex-Deatheater. Harry, tell her!”

“Ginny’s right, Mrs Weasley.” Harry joined in. “Malfoy’s been pardoned. We’re starting to think he didn’t want to do it in the first place.”

“But to be at our house,” Mrs Weasley sounded scared, and Draco felt sick, “to be around our family… He tried to-”

“Tried to what?” Ginny interrupted her mum again. “Tried to protect his _own_ family? Tried to keep himself alive? Mum, he was like fifteen years old when everything started. I’ll be honest, I still haven’t forgiven him for a lot of things, I still think he needs to take some responsibility, but the thing is, he _is_. He’s been trying, mum. I didn’t believe it at first, but Luna’s really been helping him and-”

“Luna?” It was Mrs Weasley’s turn to interrupt, “She’s a bit… batty, though, isn’t she?”

Before Draco could do something stupid (like burst out of the alcove and defend Luna) Harry cleared his throat awkwardly, “Regardless of how you may feel about Luna, you read the letter, Mrs Weasley. You know what the holidays are going to be like for him.”

“Mum, you should have seen his face. He really shouldn’t be locked away in that Manor for two weeks with only his mum to talk to – it’s not right.” Ginny’s voice was pleading but Draco knew that the redhead would have a determined look in her eye that even the floo network couldn’t disguise.

“Mrs Weasley, I won’t lie, I have just as many reservations as you do about this, but I agree with Ginny. I’ve been in that Manor, it’s no place for Christmas – especially not alone.” Harry’s words startled Draco.

“He is just a boy…” Mrs Weasley muttered to herself, clearly not expecting the floo network to pick it up. Draco squeezed his hands together in such a tight clasp the tips of his fingers turned white. He didn’t know what he’d do if he were invited to the Weasley residence. He’d been brought up being told that saying no to an invite for such an important occasion was incredibly rude, but how on Earth could he say yes? There were not enough nargles in the wizarding world to scramble his brains so that he’d see that as a good idea. But if Mrs Weasley said it was okay, would it really be a bad decision? If someone who so clearly hated him, or at least didn’t trust him, wanted him around then maybe…

“Mum, please. If not for the whole time, then just for the day. And if not for him then for us – for me. For Luna.” Ginny’s words shot through him like a hex and left him feeling like he was simultaneously floating and six feet underground. They actually wanted him there, didn’t they?

“You said his mother will be visiting his father on the day?”

“Yeah, and from the way he spoke about it I have high doubts he’d be going with.” Harry sounded almost sorry for him, but there was underlying anger that Draco couldn’t figure out the reason for.

“And they no longer have access to house elves? Rightly so if you ask me. But either way - if they’re anything like that Kreacher-”

“Kreacher had been through a lot, Mrs Weasley, but that’s not the point. He’d be alone on the day. _Completely_ alone.”

“Mum, please. He’s… actually a good guy when you get to know him.” And, wow, Draco sat back a bit at that. He knew they were friends now (or at least she tolerated him; things hadn’t been quite the same since her slip of the tongue in November), but to hear himself being called _good_ by someone he used to consider an enemy, who used to consider him an enemy… It meant far more to him than he could ever express, even if he didn’t totally agree. There was a pause as Mrs Weasley considered everything that had been said.

“Well. If he wants to come, I’m not going to turn him away.” Draco let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and felt his eyes become wet with tears he didn’t know he could cry. “I don’t know how I’m going to explain this to your father though, Ginevra. And we’ll have to try and keep him away from George and Percy – maybe even Bill – oh and Kingsley said he might be dropping by at some point – I’m going to need some more chairs, aren’t I? Does he have any dietary requirements, love?”

“Not that I know of, but Luna’s stopped eating dairy.” Ginny said with an obvious roll of her eyes.

“Oh, that girl! Bless her soul but she really _is_ odd, isn’t she? First no meat, now this! Her father will be coming too I presume. Yes, yes, I will definitely need more chairs. Maybe even a larger table. Oh dear. Harry, will you…”

Draco blocked out the rest of the conversation. He was still stuck on the fact that he was actually welcome at the Weasley’s house. What was the name that Luna called it again? The Borrowed? The Barrel? He’d have to ask her tomorrow at breakfast. Either way, never in a million years did he think that would happen. Never in a million years did he think he would _want_ it to happen. (Because, if he was honest with himself, he did. He wanted to be invited). What would it even be like?

His pondering of what would happen on Christmas day came to a sudden, screeching halt, when Ginny stepped into the alcove. She paused just as quickly as his thoughts did when she noticed he was sat there.

“I’m assuming-” she started to ask. Draco nodded, letting her know that he had been there the whole time. “And?”

Draco paused, considering the question one last time. “Maybe.” He spoke softly. “I want to say yes, believe me. But I would need to talk to Mother about it and I wouldn’t mind some other people’s opinions as well.”

“Luna will say you should come.”

“That’s not who I-” He shut up when Ginny levelled him with a look. Her facial expression left no room for argument; in no universe, magical or not, would he ever get anything past her. “Well, I’d like to hear it from her, at least.”

“Okay.” Ginny looked around awkwardly, then sat down on the floor in front of the pedestal. “I’m gonna be in here for a while. You can stay or leave, I don’t care, but… just letting you know.”

Draco nodded but didn’t make any move to leave. He leaned back again, resting the crown of his head on the glass, and staring up at the domed ceiling. The silence that shrouded them was tense, awkward in a way that it had never been before which was exceptionally weird given their history. Draco knew he still wouldn’t be able to sleep, and this was _his_ common room, so he wasn’t planning on going anywhere any time soon. Ginny was a Weasley though, stubborn through-and-through.

“Your brother, right?” Draco didn’t know why he spoke, regretted it as soon as the first syllable was out there, but the question had been weighing on him since their first conversation in the common room all those weeks ago.

Ginny didn’t react the way he was expecting. He waited for her shoulders to tense, her voice to become hard, a glare to be aimed his way. But what he got was a small sigh and a whispered ‘ _yeah_ ’.

“I’m sorry.” Draco whispered back, and he meant it.

“It wasn’t you.”

“Wasn’t it?” Draco asked with a scoff. “The whole thing could have been avoided if-”

“No.” Ginny cut him off. “It couldn’t have. It was going to happen at some point, whether or not you were involved. There was a prophecy. It had to happen.”

“But with so much loss?” Draco’s voice shook, and he hated himself for it.

“Casualties of war.” Ginny shrugged. “Fred died with a smile on his face. He died happy, despite what was happening around us. Ultimately, he died for the greater good, and he would be so proud of that.”

“And what of the ones who didn’t? The ones who died because of other people’s mistakes, inactions? What of them, and the people who caused it?”

Ginny turned to look at him, head cocked to the side, confusion on her face, “Who did you lose?”

Her tone wasn’t abrasive or accusatory, she wasn’t saying that, because of the side he was on, his loss didn’t matter. She regarded him with genuine, sad eyes; she wanted to know his pain. It reminded him of Luna.

“Crabbe.” Draco’s voice croaked out. “He… he fell into fiendfyre. I could have helped him, and I didn’t, and he fell.”

“You guys were close, weren’t you?”

And wasn’t that the problem.

“Not really, no.” Ginny’s eyebrows rose, her mouth parted slightly. Draco huffed a laugh. “Everyone thought so, but they – Crabbe and Goyle – didn’t really… offer much. The conversations were very one-sided.”

“I did always wonder how you put up with their idiocy.” Ginny snorted. “So, how is it your fault?”

“I told you-”

“Did you cast the spell?”

Draco paused, “No.”

“Would you have been put in danger if you helped him?”

“Well, yes, but-”

“Look, I might be a Gryffindor, but I don’t agree with being a martyr.” Ginny shrugged. “Save yourself first, so you can help more people down the line. Don’t try and kill yourself to help just one person.”

Draco regarded her with a small smile, “This is the moment where I would reiterate my initial assessment that you would have made a good Slytherin, but I’m afraid you might hex me.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, smiling, “You’re such a loser.”

She turned back to the pedestal, getting lost in thought again. Draco stood slowly and left the alcove, squeezing her shoulder as he passed. He still wasn’t tired, but the conversation was over and, if he were her, he wouldn’t want an audience to his grief.

***

_23 rd Dec. Morning._

_Malfoy,_

_Mum wants to know if you’re coming round for xmas or not. Please reply asap, she’s doing my head in._

_Ginny_

***

_23 rd Dec. Afternoon._

_Dear Ginny,_

_I’m still considering the offer, sorry._

_My mother leaves tomorrow morning to begin the journey to visit my father – she’s not permitted to use the floo network and Azkaban do not allow apparition so she must travel with a ministry official using muggle transportation. She’s weirdly excited about it, but she might be delirious from all her time indoors._

_All this to say, her leaving early is most definitely encouraging me to take you and your family up on the offer to spend Christmas with you, but I still have reservations, I hope you understand._

_Tell Luna I’m sorry._

_Kind regards,_

_Draco Malfoy._

_***_

_23 rd Dec. Night._

_Loser,_

_You’re such a loser – who writes such a formal letter to a friend?_

_I told my mum that your mum is leaving in the morning and she almost started crying at the thought of anyone being alone on xmas eve night/xmas day morning, so I have to come get you tomorrow._

_See you at ten am, loser_ _😊_

_Ginny._

***

Draco looked up from the letter at the clock on his wall. Nine forty-five AM. He loved Dionysus, he really did, but he wished the owl would wake him up when a letter came at night instead of leaving it on the table by the front door. His mother left at half-past the hour, and now he only had fifteen minutes to get ready before Ginny turned up to drag him to The Burrow.

He took the main stairs up to his bedroom two at a time, his long legs making quick work of it. He threw open the door to his room and waved his hand, fresh night clothes and an outfit folding themselves neatly and placing themselves in his bag. His toothbrush came whizzing from his en-suite bathroom, hitting him on the shoulder as it passed. He hurriedly changed out of his current night clothes and into his most causal trousers and a plain black turtleneck. He was grateful that, growing up, his mother made him own muggle-looking clothes (but Merlin-forbid they actually be made by muggles) for their trips into London. He knew Ginny would never stop teasing him if he turned up to her house wearing dress robes.

The sound of the doorbell dancing through the house surprised him; he half expected Ginny to just waltz in like she owned the place. He waited for a split second for someone to answer it when he realised with a sudden jolt that he was completely alone in the manor. He descended the back stairs by his room and made his way to the front door slowly, the reality of the situation settling in his stomach like a led weight.

He reached the door quicker than he wanted to.

“You own normal clothes? That’s weird, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you not wear a shirt.” Ginny said, finally stepping into the manor without invitation.

“Good to see you too, Ginny. Would you like to wait inside while I get my bag?” Draco rolled his eyes.

“Don’t get smart with me, you loser,” Ginny smirked. She wandered further into the building, turning in a small circle. She let out a low whistle. “Harry was right, this place is massive. You seriously here by yourself?”

Draco nodded and waved his hand. They heard a soft bang echo throughout the house as his bag made its way down the stairs to them. Ginny rolled her eyes at the display. Draco grabbed his coat from the cloakroom to the side and wrapped the green and blue scarf Luna had gifted him on the train back to Kings Cross around his neck. Ginny eyed it with a smile.

“Have you eaten yet?” Draco shook his head. “Cool, Dad insisted on bringing you a bacon sandwich to ‘break the ice’ or something, I don’t know. I think he was just excited about driving the car again.”

“Car?” Draco asked, shouldering his bag. He motioned to Ginny to leave and closed the door behind them, the wards on the manor locking the door immediately. They walked down the long path toward the ornate gate.

“Yeah. Muggle transportation. Dad’s obsessed with all thing’s muggle. It’s not the car we used to have – Harry and Ron wrecked that one – but this one is big enough without the use of magic so really they did everyone a favour.”

“They wrecked it?” Draco asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Flew it into the Whomping Willow in second year.” Ginny shrugged. Before Draco could react ( _how_ had he not known about this?), she lifted a hand and waved at a man sitting in what Draco assumed was the car. He’d seen them before, obviously, he just hadn’t known their name. It was a weird name.

Ginny opened one of the back doors to the car for him and he got in awkwardly. The man in the front seat, behind the wheel, looked at him in the mirror and nodded in acknowledgement. Ginny rushed around to the other side of the car and sat in the seat next to her father.

“I appreciate the invite, Mr Weasley. I understand that it may be difficult for your family-”

“Not a problem, my boy!” Mr Weasley replied with what Draco could tell was forced cheer. “If we didn’t say yes then Ginny here wouldn’t have shut up about it all break anyway.”

“Damn right,” Ginny said with a grin. “You would have had to face Luna’s wrath as well.”

“Ah, that girl.” Mr Weasley shook his head fondly as the car started to move. “Now, Malfoy, tell me – have you ever seen a rubber duck? They’re fascinating!”

***

The drive to the Weasley’s house took just over an hour. It was awkward, despite Mr Weasley’s attempts at diffusing the tension by rambling about muggle artifacts. Draco was more curious about it all than he thought he would be, but years of being told all things muggle were bad conditioned him to stay quiet and not ask follow-up questions.

Draco knew immediately when they were driving up to The Burrow. If not for the fact that it seemed to be the only house for a few miles around, then for the fact that it was the most Weasley-looking residence that could ever possibly exist.

The house looked to be an old stone pigpen that had been expanded on over the years, except this expansion wasn’t left or right, but up. Very high up. There had to be at least four stories, each one looking more fragile and precariously balanced than the last and Draco realised rather quickly that it must be being held up by magic – not unlike the stacks of books in Professor Flitwick’s classroom. There were chickens roaming around outside and a few tell-tale screeches of Gnomes that Draco suspected were being thrown around, as well as small plumes of smoke coming out of three of the four chimneys dotted around the roof.

Draco’s first instinct was to turn his nose up; to see the haphazardness and the run-down nature of the exterior and disregard it all as more Weasley nonsense. But seeing the contentment on Ginny and Mr Weasley’s faces as they stepped into the building, smelling the fireplace burning and what may have been bread baking, and hearing laughter echo throughout the floors, Draco realised that no matter how the house looked, it was a home. A home that welcomed him despite his past. The least he could do was welcome its warmth right back.

“How was the drive, dear?” Mrs Weasley wiped soapy hands on her apron as she stepped out of a small room off to the side of the kitchen. Mr Weasley walked over to her and gave her a kiss on the cheek, telling her about how the other drivers all looked bored and that he pitied muggles who were used to their technologies now. Mrs Weasley shook her head fondly and nudged him in the direction of what Draco suspected was the back garden. “The boys need help with the Gnomes. I’ll bring some tea out for you in a bit.”

After removing his coat and scarf, Draco stood awkwardly next to a bookcase that threatened to fall and crush him. He reached a hand up to trail a finger along the spines, realising that a few new-looking muggle books had found places in amongst the tomes of magical fiction. Ginny nudged him in the ribs with her elbow and he focused back on the room, Mrs Weasley’s hard stare making it difficult to do otherwise.

“Do you like reading?” Mrs Weasley asked curtly, clearly trying hard for her daughter. Ginny rolled her eyes.

“Mum just treat him like you would Harry or better yet, Percy. They’re awfully similar, y’know.” Ginny said, walking through to the other end of the kitchen and getting herself a glass of water.

This seemed to stir something in Mrs Weasley. “Speaking of, you’ll be staying in Percy’s room tonight-”

“I don’t want to get in the way, or anything-” Draco interrupted and was interrupted in turn.

“Not at all, dear, he’s only joining us in the morning.”

Mrs Weasley turned to where Ginny was looking through the cupboards and batted her hands away from some cookies. “Not until after dinner. Go and help your brothers.”

Ginny groaned, “But Mum-”

“No buts! I need that garden clear for tomorrow, get a move on!”

Ginny trudged out the same door her father had left through moments before and Draco went back to standing in awkward silence. He heard Mrs Weasley sigh as she looked around her kitchen, seemingly forgetting he was there. She waved her wand over some potatoes and they started to peel themselves as she put a kettle on the hob to boil.

“Is there anything I can do?” Draco asked, needing to do something.

Mrs Weasley startled slightly, confirming to Draco that she had already forgotten about him. He didn’t blame her; he would too if he could.

Draco stepped closer, hoping he didn’t seem intimidating. “I’m quite adept at cooking magic. My mother used to say-” He cut himself off and hung his head. He didn’t need to explain himself, and he didn’t need to convince Mrs Weasley that he was useful. If she said no, that would be that and he could go and watch the others get rid of the Gnomes.

She raised an eyebrow and pointed to some cans of beans that needed opening. Draco drew a small, quick circle in the air with his finger and in an instant the tins were open. Mrs Weasley stumbled backwards slightly, staring at his hand.

“Sorry,” Draco said, hanging his head again. “You can take my wand if it would make you feel any better.”

Mrs Weasley let out a small gasp, “Merlin, no! I may not agree with your past, boy, but you are in my home, and in my home people should feel welcome. You keep your wand.” She said nothing about him clearly not needing one, or his use of non-verbal magic. Draco suspected that was because she didn’t know what to do about it, but he hoped that it meant she wasn’t afraid. He didn’t want anyone to be scared of him.

“Do you know when Luna’s getting here?” Draco asked, trying to change the topic. He sat down at the long dining table and watched as Mrs Weasley put a pie in the oven.

“Luna? Oh, not until mid-morning tomorrow, I suspect. She and her father live just up the hill so there’s no need for them to spend the night.”

“Oh, okay.” Draco slumped slightly. He’d been hoping that Luna was going to be there for the whole time, if not for the festivities then at least for him. He knew it was a selfish thought, but he couldn’t help but feel like he needed her there. Did she even know he was here though?

“Start the fire would you dear. It’s getting a bit nippy, don’t you think?”

As Draco stood up to get closer to the fireplace (he didn’t want to accidentally set something else on fire) a roar came from the garden and the backdoor flew open. Draco proceeded to start the fire without magic as Ron stalked into the kitchen grumbling about the Gnomes and their sharp teeth. The Gryffindor started rummaging around in the drawers looking for something.

“Those bloody creatures are going to just come back anyway I don’t see why we have to grab ‘em-”

“You know exactly why, Ronald.” Mrs Weasley interrupted his mutterings. “And you also know that the plasters are kept in the pantry now.”

“I can take a look if you want. Make sure it’s not infected.” Draco said, lifting his head out of the fireplace, hoping that they assumed the blush across his cheeks was from the heat of the flames and not him drawing attention to himself again.

“What do you bloody-well know about Gnome bites?” Ron asked, glaring at him across the room. Before Mrs Weasley could berate his tone, Harry appeared in the doorway behind him.

“He actually seems to know quite a bit about medical things. Dean says he _reads_.” Harry moved over to the sink to wash his hands which were covered in dirt and tiny little bite marks that hadn’t pierced the skin.

“Have you been gossiping about me, Potter? I’m flattered, truly.” Draco deadpanned, and Harry snickered slightly before he seemed to remember who he was talking to and quickly schooled his features.

“Just let him have a look mate.” Harry said to Ron before giving Mrs Weasley a quick kiss on the cheek and going back out to the garden shouting something about a friendly Quidditch game.

Mrs Weasley nudged Ron, who grumpily made his way over to the table and sat down, holding his hand up. Draco moved closer and examined the small wound. It was bright red and bleeding, a clear liquid oozing from it as well.

“Uh, I can sort it out for you. A plaster isn’t going to help.” Draco looked nervously at Mrs Weasley who held her hands up as if to say _I’m staying out of this_. She started pulling out some mugs from one of the cupboards and placed some tea bags in them.

Ron shrugged, glaring at the table. “Whatever.”

Draco took his wand out of his back pocket and tapped it lightly against Ron’s hand as the kettle started whistling. The wound cleared and stitched itself back together in the blink of an eye. Ron pulled his hand back sharply, the sting of the bite healing clearly alarming him, but when he saw unblemished skin he relaxed. He stood up, nodded his thanks, then left the room, taking one of the cups of tea for his father as he did so. Draco saw Mrs Weasley shake her head and he suspected that Ron was going to get a lecture on manners later.

“You’re quite a talented young man, aren’t you?” Mrs Weasley said, busying herself with putting the peeled potatoes into a pan of boiling water.

“I didn’t have much of a choice, ma’am.” Draco said, not entirely understanding why.

“None of that ma’am nonsense, dear.” Mrs Weasley said but didn’t offer an alternative. She turned to him with a sad smile, “I think you had more of a choice than you want to admit. But you’re still just a child, and for that reason will you tell the others that lunch will be ready in about forty-five minutes?”

***

Lunch was interesting, to say the least. Draco hadn’t eaten much, his appetite still just as awful as it was in September and, judging by the look she kept giving him, Mrs Weasley was either concerned for his well-being or thought he was being rude. (Draco definitely felt like it was the latter, but later on Ginny would insist that wasn’t the case). He also didn’t speak at all, despite Ginny, Harry, and even Mr Weasley attempting to engage him in conversation. George and the oldest Weasley kid (Bill, was it?) glared at him over each forkful of pie and mash they brought to their mouths, while Ron had decided to pretend that he wasn’t there at all. Draco was surprised to find that Ron, when Ron acted like Draco wasn’t around, was actually quite funny. He’d have to tell Luna that observation, she’d love to hear it.

As Draco helped to clear the table – Ginny stomped on George’s foot after he snorted at Draco’s offer – the backdoor swung open, making him almost drop the plate he was holding.

“Look who I found on the hill!” A voice that was clearly used to shouting over loud noises called into the house. Draco looked at the new Weasley that had entered The Burrow and decided that, yes, that was clearly the dragon brother that Ginny had spoken about. He was short, much shorter than Draco, but what he lacked in height he made up for in muscle. He had the build of a beater, but if the Trophy Room at Hogwarts was any indication then the Weasley in front of him was a seeker – and a damn good one. Half of his bright red hair was pulled back into a ponytail, a few strands falling loose around his freckled face. The start of a large burn scar could be seen on his neck once he removed his knitted scarf, and the other end revealed itself across the back of this hand as the dragon-hide gloves came off. But none of this mattered to Draco as the person Charlie Weasley had found skipped into the kitchen.

All that could be seen of Luna as she entered The Burrow were her eyes. Her hair was piled into a woollen hat with a rather large bobble on the top that looked suspiciously like a Pygmypuff, and her mouth and nose were covered by a scarf that must have been longer than the Giant Squid as it was wrapped around her at least three times and trailed along the floor behind her. It was bright yellow and clashed horribly with her lime green winter coat that had pink faux fur trimming the edges. The sleeves of said coat were too long and covered her hands, making Draco distantly wonder if it was actually her father’s. Unsurprisingly, Luna had already taken her shoes off, but the stripes on her socks which had been charmed to wiggle around like snakes were more than enough to add to the whole ensemble.

Luna barely gave Draco time to put the plate down before she jumped at him, crushing him in a hug that made his brain short-circuit. He had only just registered that he should probably hug her back when she pulled away slightly, hands resting on his hips, and started talking. Her words were muffled and so he began to unwrap her scarf for her.

“-you’d be all alone for Christmas, I was so worried, but, oh, I’m so happy you’re here, Draco! Daddy said we would have visited you, of course, but I don’t think he quite understood what he was saying. But you’re here now which is marvellous! Have you met any of the Gnomes yet?” Her cheeks, red from the cold outside, stretched into a large smile. “They’re wonderful little creatures, don’t you think? One bit me last year but I couldn’t make good use of the saliva because we were at a wedding, you see, Bill and Fleur’s, so I couldn’t do any drawing. I’m hoping one will bite me again so I can finish a painting I’ve been working on. Did you know that a Gnome’s saliva-”

“-increases creativity, yes. I thought it was mainly opera singing though?” Draco said, not noticing the looks the Weasley’s and Harry were giving them.

“Well, yes, but whoever said you can’t sing opera and paint at the same time?” Luna asked with a giggle.

Draco smiled at her fondly, not hearing Mrs Weasley let out a small _oh_. Luna stepped away slightly and unbuttoned her coat, revealing a vibrant red skirt and white jumper. Next to Draco’s own forest green trousers and black turtleneck they were a stark contrast; light and dark. A distant memory of a book he once found in muggle-London came to mind, telling him that the colours were actually _complementary_.

“Never fail to impress with your colour choices. Ay, Luna? The Antipodean Opaleye would be proud.” Charlie said with a wink, taking the coat from her arms and hanging it up with his own jacket by the door.

A fresh dust of pink sprinkled itself onto Luna’s cheeks and, without thinking, Draco pulled her a little closer by the sleeve of her jumper. She settled in next to him with a smile.

“I’m sorry for coming by without invitation, Mrs Weasley. Ginny sent me a message this morning with Arnold-” Luna reached up and took the hat off her head, her slightly curled hair tumbling out of it as the bobble rolled down her arm and rested in her hands, “-saying that Draco was visiting, and I just had to say hello! I waited until after lunch to make sure I wasn’t too much of a bother.”

“That’s quite alright dear.” Mrs Weasley said, a shocked look plastered on her face. Draco couldn’t work out why. “While I have you here, what time will you and your father be by tomorrow?”

As Luna and Mrs Weasley conversed, the rest of the Weasley’s slowly disappeared. Draco heard Harry and George discussing something to do with the joke shop the older one owned as they wandered into the living room, Ron hot on their heels, not wanting to be caught in conversation with Draco again. Ginny and Charlie sat at the far end of the dining room table and started a quiet game of Exploding Snap (or as quiet as a game of exploding snap could get – there were a lot of side glances from Mrs Weasley). Bill and Mr Weasley went outside, but Draco didn’t hear why and didn’t particularly care why either.

Draco realised he’d zoned out slightly when Luna tugged on his arm and led him over to the dining table. Mrs Weasley had returned to that little room off the side of the kitchen, which anyone would have been able to guess by the sudden increase in the volume of her children’s game. Luna pushed Draco into the seat opposite Charlie and next to Ginny who was sat at the head of the table. She settled into the chair next to him, pulling them together as close as they could go. He lifted his arm to the back of her chair so that they didn’t keep bumping shoulders. Charlie glanced at them, opening his mouth to say something, but a small explosion cut him off and he groaned, throwing his cards down.

“Still losing, after all these years.” Ginny said with a triumphant smile.

“Is there any game he can win at though?” Ron asked, returning to the room, Harry not far behind.

“Certainly not wizard’s chess if you’re playing Ronald.” Charlie said, his tone mocking but his facial expression full of pride. Draco felt Luna nudge his leg.

“Draco plays wizard’s chess, don’t you?” The smile on her face was sweet but there was a hidden meaning in her words that he couldn’t ignore. He glared at her lightly, which only caused her grin to spread wider. His lips twitched as he shifted his eyes to Ron, who was hovering by the stairs.

“We’ll, uh, we’ll have to play sometime, Weas- Ron.” He said awkwardly.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Maybe later.” Ron muttered, then made his way up the rickety stairs.

“Malfoy, can we talk?” Harry asked suddenly, gesturing outside. Draco looked from him to Luna who gave a small nod of encouragement and pushed him gently out of his seat.

As he stepped out of the house, he saw Charlie lean over to Luna, “So, you and _Malfoy_ , huh?”

***

The first thing Draco noticed about Mr Weasley’s shed was that it was full of items Draco had never seen before. He could easily piece together that they were all muggle items, given that Ginny explicitly said her father was obsessed with non-magical people, but nothing quite prepared him for the sheer number of things in there. He wouldn’t even know where to begin looking to find out what each item was.

The second thing he noticed was that it was unnervingly similar to the Room of Requirement in sixth year. It put him on edge. There was no other way to say it. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, his shoulders squared, his jaw clenched, and his fingernails found the palms of his hands. Harry pointed him over to a chair by the central workbench, and Draco sat down with a stiffness only ever seen on victims of Petrificus Totalus. Harry leaned across the workbench on his elbows, thinking about where to begin.

“This is about Tom, right?” Draco asked after a good ten minutes had passed in silence.

Harry bowed his head, “Yeah.” He took a deep breath, and when he lifted his eyes to meet Draco’s the blond was shocked at how upset he looked. “I spoke to McGonagall about my theory and-”

“The one that you never actually told me about?” Draco rolled his eyes, starting to relax.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure-”

Draco sat up again, “So you’re sure now?”

“Sure enough to test it out.” Harry nodded. He took another deep breath, “I think Tom might be… I think he might-”

“Be a Horcrux, right?” Draco asked, impatient. Harry flinched, then nodded again. “What does that mean? I’ve read about them, but… wait, that’s where you were last year, wasn’t it? That’s the big secret mission you were on. You were finding _his_ Horcruxes and destroying them.”

“Yeah, and I thought we’d found them all but, well, Tom.”

“Tom.” Draco repeated quietly. “He’s a Horcrux. But how?”

“That’s what we need to find out. We can’t do anything about it until he’s awake, but it doesn’t seem like he’s going to wake up any time soon.”

“Why are you telling me this Potter?” Draco asked, trying to suppress a sneer. “If he’s not going to wake up soon then-”

“We need to figure out what to do-”

“You just said we can’t do anything until he’s _awake_ -”

“I know that but-”

“And you better not hurt him either, Pot-”

“I would never-”

“BOYS!” A shrill voice interrupted.

Hermione Granger stood in the doorway of the shed with her hands on her hips, Ron and Ginny’s faces peeking in over her shoulders. Ginny muttered something under her breath and Ron snorted before nudging Hermione into the room.

“You’re never going to get anywhere talking over each other.” Hermione scolded, walking over to them with a determined stride. “Maybe take in it turns to speak?” Draco bristled.

“Don’t tell me what to do, you f-” He cut himself off before Harry and Ron could even begin to glare at him. He clenched his fists in his lap, “Sorry. I- I’m sorry.”

“That’s- thank you.” Hermione said, blinking a couple of times in disbelief.

A stiff silence settled. Draco cleared his throat, “So, Tom’s a Horcrux? How?”

“Albania.” Harry said with a sigh.

“You’re going to need to elaborate on that one, Potter.” Draco said, still slightly worked up from their argument before.

“It’s where Voldemort-” Draco’s whole body flinched violently. If he had any hope of them ignoring his reaction, it was diminished by the looks they exchanged. Harry pushed himself off the table so that he was no longer leaning across it, “In first year, Dumbledore told me-”

Harry cut himself off when Draco flinched again, not as violently but still noticeable. His eyes glued themselves to the floor of the shed (thankfully stain-free, he didn’t want to be falling into an abyss anytime soon), and he distantly wondered if someone had ever had to have their own fingernails surgically removed from their palms before or if he’d be the first case St Mungo’s had ever seen. He heard the door open and close, but he could tell Harry and at least Hermione were still in the shed. He suspected Ron was as well, and he knew exactly what Ginny would be doing. The thought alone started to calm him.

“Sort of feels like he doesn’t get a pass with that one.” Ron muttered to Hermione, who quickly shushed him though Draco was inclined to agree.

There was a short silence in which Draco wished that his body would stop being so tense and that the trio would stop staring at him. He felt exposed in a way he never had before and while part of him wanted to lash out a stronger part, the part buried under guilt and pain and fear, kept him weighed down in his seat.

The door to the shed reopening broke the silence that had settled and within seconds Luna was at his side. Her hands wrapped around his and slowly pried his fingers away from his palms, thankfully blood-free though he’d probably have some bruising. She shuffled closer, squeezing his hands as a silent request for him to look at her. The height of the chair made their faces level for once and Draco was momentarily stunned by the closeness as he brought his eyes up from the floor to meet hers. She offered him a small smile.

_Everything will be okay._

Draco gave a slow, minuscule nod in return.

_I believe you._

Luna turned to Harry, still holding on to Draco’s hands, “Carry on.”

Harry didn’t say anything for a second, looking between Draco and Luna with confusion written across his face. Ginny placed her hand on the small of his back and he jerked slightly before he leaned back over the workbench and started to explain.

He told Draco about how _You-Know-Who_ had a significant connection to Albania; it was where he found Ravenclaw’s diadem and where he hid out for fourteen years after he tried to kill Harry as an infant. Apparently, Professor McGonagall has contacted Tom’s parents and it has been decided that they’d address the issue after Christmas as it seems that his coma isn’t hurting him. Draco was slightly irritated by that; surely, they’d want to get their child back as soon as possible?

“The thing is,” Harry continued, “based on what we could find about their family history, if Tom really is a Horcrux, then he’s not actually a wizard.”

“What?” Draco and Ron said at the same time. They glanced at each other then looked back at Harry, but it was Hermione who spoke, realisation spreading across her face.

“The part of V- You-Know-Who’s soul that is in Tom is what’s giving him his magic, isn’t it? In a similar way to how the part that was in you, Harry, helped you speak to snakes.”

Draco did a double-take, “ _What?_ ”

“Harry was the last Horcrux,” Luna explained matter-of-factly. “He had to die to survive.”

“You _died_?” Draco asked, his eyes threatening to pop out of his skull. “When my mother checked-”

“I was alive, yes, but the part of Voldemort that was in me was gone. Look, it’s such a complicated story, I don’t entirely understand it myself, can we just…” He trailed off awkwardly, hoping that someone else would pick up the conversation.

“You should write a book,” Luna said suddenly. Harry raised an eyebrow at her and she elaborated, “About your life.” She stuck her bottom lip out slightly, thinking, “Maybe seven; one for each year at Hogwarts!”

“I think I’ll leave the creative things to you, Luna.” Harry said with a fond chuckle.

“So, what’s going to happen with-”

Draco’s question was cut off by Mr Weasley stumbling into the shed, an exasperated smile on his face. “You kids! Ginny, Ron, your mother has been calling for you both for the last ten minutes, she’s ready to send out a search party. Harry, you best go to, I suspect they’ll need some support, Molly looked furious.” He bustled around as he spoke, almost knocking over a multitude of items, “Hermione, your parents said they’d help me with fixing the _televisionary_ would you help me look for it? I can never remember what they look like…”

Mr Weasley’s voice trailed off as he wandered further into his towers of muggle-junk and Draco realised with a start just how large the shed was; he knew he compared it to the Room of Requirement, but he didn’t realise how accurate he’d been. He felt Luna squeeze his hands again and pull him up out of his seat, the top of her head coming to just above his shoulder again. He hadn’t realised quite how small she was until then, or maybe how tall he was. Was he really that tall? He suddenly felt very aware of his entire body, especially his hands, where the warmth of Luna’s hand left his left one but kept a hold of his right as they walked out of the shed. They must have been in there for longer than he’d thought as the sky outside was dark now, the lack of pollution from muggle lights allowing the stars to shine brightly in the sky.

“He’ll be obliviated, Draco.” Luna said quietly, stopping them just outside the Weasley’s backdoor after everyone else had gone inside. “Once the magic leaves him, he’ll have to be obliviated.”

“If Moritz had never-”

“If he’d never hurt Tom then we wouldn’t know what was happening. This is a good thing; it will help end things before they start again.” Luna’s tone left no room for argument and while part of Draco felt like he should be annoyed, the warm feeling settling in his stomach prevented him from doing anything but sighing.

He looked up at the stars, tried to find himself in the twinkling expanse. Luna squeezed his hand, “Over there.” She nodded behind him, her eyes also on the sky.

He turned slightly so he could spot the dragon constellation, tucked safely between the Plough and the Little Bear. He used to spend hours in the Manor gardens when he was younger, staring at the constellation in the sky. He used to tell himself that the Little Bear was his mother, the Plough his father, and that even when the day came for his parents to leave him, they’d always be together in the sky. He smiled sadly at the memory, thinking of how different his life turned out; father in Azkaban, mother absent at Christmas.

When he turned back to Luna, he noticed she was wearing her coat and scarf again, the latter wrapped around her only once, her hat sticking out of her pocket. She hadn’t left his side at all, their hands still firmly joined between them, and so she must have been wearing it when she entered the shed as well. He didn’t have a chance to lament his lack of observational skills when he realised what her ensemble meant.

“You’re leaving?” He asked, thankful that his voice didn’t crack despite the feeling settling in his throat.

“I’ll be back tomorrow. Daddy needs me at home tonight.” Her lips turned up, but her eyes didn’t hold the familiar spark.

“Your father, he’s not very well, is he?”

“No, he’s not. I’ll tell you about it all someday, but not now.” She shivered slightly as a particularly cold breeze fluttered through the Weasley’s garden. Draco reached out for the scarf and began to wrap it around her some more. The smile reached her eyes again. “You’re a very caring person, Draco.”

He scoffed, “Only to those I-” His teeth clicked together as he saved himself from embarrassment; his eyes fluttered shut as he took a deep breath, begging his pulse to slow down.

He felt Luna’s hand on his forearm and a shift in weight as she used it to balance herself. Standing on the tips of her toes, she placed a delicate kiss on his cheek. “Until tomorrow, Draco.”

When he opened his eyes, she was gone.

***

Draco’s sleep that night was restless. He didn’t feel unsafe in the Weasley’s home, far from it, in fact, but there was still something in the back of his mind telling him that if he truly fell asleep, he’d regret it. By the time the small clock on the bedside table ticked to five-thirty he gave up entirely and made his way down the creaking stairs as quietly as he could.

The fireplace in the Weasley’s living room was already lit up with dancing red and gold flames. _This is a lion’s den_ , Draco thought amusedly, suddenly seeing the hilarity in him spending Christmas with the Weasley’s. It was unbelievable, and he hoped his father never finds out else the elder Malfoy keel over from a heart attack.

Draco sat down on the floor in front of the fire, pulling his knees up to his chest, but the position quickly reminded him of how Ginny would sit in the alcove of the common room. He stood up.

The flames were still dancing ten minutes later when he felt a wand dig into his back.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Percy Weasley’s voice hissed into the room. Draco held his hands up to show he didn’t have his wand with him, and Percy withdrew his own. Draco turned around, noting that Percy was still wearing his winter coat, hat, and gloves.

“You’re here rather early.” Draco said, his sleep-deprived brain saying the first thought that came to it.

“Answer the question Malfoy.” Percy hissed again.

“Percy?” Mrs Weasley’s voice called from the kitchen. She hadn’t been in there when Draco had come down the stairs, but he should have assumed she was around somewhere because of the fire. He really needed to sleep more; his deduction skills had reduced significantly in the last few months.

“Mother, stay in there!” Percy shouted through, not loud enough to wake anyone else but certainly loud enough to concern Mrs Weasley. She ignored his words and walked into the living room.

“Oh, Percy!” Mrs Weasley hurried over and enveloped Percy in a hug, who was thrown off guard at his mother’s lack of reaction to Draco Malfoy standing in their living room. She pulled back, dusting the last of the snowflakes off of his shoulders. She looked at Draco with a strained smile. “Draco is Ginny’s guest for the holidays.”

Draco lifted a hand to wave awkwardly, then turned back to the fireplace while Percy spoke in hushed tones saying things like _he’s dangerous_ and _what is she thinking_ and _how are you okay with this_. Mrs Weasley quickly ushered her son into the kitchen, leaving Draco alone again.

There was a small Christmas tree in the corner of the living room, with an abundance of presents under it. The sight made Draco realise that he hadn’t gotten anyone a gift. When Luna had given him the blue and green scarf on the train, he told her that he hadn’t realised they’d be exchanging gifts and that he’d get her something for after Christmas. But it hadn’t even crossed his mind that he’d need to get something for Ginny, and now the rest of her family. Merlin, he even turned up to their home with nothing but his own bag! He could feel the scolding glare his mother would be sending his way burning into his back as he walked through to the kitchen.

“Can I help at all?” He asked Mrs Weasley, who was bustling around the kitchen like she didn’t have magic to help her out. Percy was sat at the table, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face and Draco had to suppress a laugh at how much the old Head Boy looked like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

Mrs Weasley pointed at the small room off to the side of the kitchen, “Make use of that fancy magic of yours and get the marquee up, will you? It’s looking like rain later and I don’t want our food getting soggy. Having to eat outdoors in December, I don’t know…” She trailed off towards the end, getting down on her knees to rummage in a low cupboard.

Draco made quick, quiet work of locating the marquee and getting it outside, but quickly realised that even with his advanced skills it was at least a two-person job. Before he could suck it up and embarrass himself by asking Mrs Weasley or even Percy for help, he heard a chuckle behind him and felt magic tingle the air, one side of the marquee lifting slowly.

“Go on then mate, get the other end.” Charlie Weasley said, moving around so that he had a better angle. Draco shifted his weight, planting his feet firmly so he had better control over the magic in his fingers. They had the marquee up within ten minutes, only coming close to disaster when a stray Gnome charged out from behind a bush, aiming for Charlie’s ankles. The kick that Charlie delivered sent the creature flying so far out of the garden that it had no hope of returning before the next evening.

Draco let out an impressed whistle, “I’m glad Luna wasn’t here to see that.”

“Eh, she’d probably get a kick out of trying to find the little bugger to see if he’s alright.” Charlie said with a shrug and a grin, winking at his own pun. Draco huffed a laugh, a fond smile tugging at his lips at the thought of Luna’s face lighting up at the prospect.

“Are you and Luna close?” He asked suddenly, surprising even himself.

“Ah,” Charlie finished tying the marquee down and made his way over to where Draco was leaning against the garden wall, “Yeah, I guess you could say that. She used to have a wee bit of crush.”

“On you?”

“No need to sound so shocked, mate, I have my charms!” Charlie laughed, a cheeky grin sliding back onto his face.

“I don’t doubt it.” Draco muttered, telling himself his cheeks were flushed because of the cold.

Charlie cleared his throat, “Anyway, that was ages ago - before she went to Hogwarts. Her and Gin used to play on the hill sometimes during the holidays and I had to supervise, y’know – the curse of being an older sibling.” Draco didn’t know. “It was just a silly little thing; nothing like you two have. I never reciprocated either; she was too young for a start, but also decidedly too female. But, yeah, she writes asking about the dragons all the time – much less recently, though I guess that’s because she found one of her own to tame, eh?”

Draco snorted as Charlie nudged an elbow at him. The second-oldest Weasley gave him a look he couldn’t decipher, but his brain was so fogged-up with trying to remember how to be awake that he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“You didn’t get much sleep last night, did ya?” Charlie asked. Draco shook his head, leaning it back against the cold stone and closing his eyes. “Today’s gonna be hectic, mate, you sure you don’t want to get another hour or so?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

There was a long pause, but surprisingly it didn’t feel awkward. Draco opened one of his eyes and looked at Charlie, who had pulled out a cigarette and was tapping his fingers against his thigh, a devil-may-care attitude engulfing his entire being. Something about him seemed so familiar. It was unnerving, to be so content around a Weasley. The only other one it was like this with was-

“Oh, that makes so much sense.” Draco’s mouth spoke before his brain could stop it. Charlie turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “Ginny. She gets it from you.”

“Gets what from me?” Charlie asked, amused.

“ _It._ The…” Draco trailed off, not wanting to offend anyone.

“Ah,” Charlie had a knowing look on his face, “I know. Back in first year, I was told by a tattered old hat that I’d make a fine snake. Anything to do with that?”

Draco huffed, the corners of his mouth turning up, “She always threatens to hex me when I bring it up. How’d you end up in Gryffindor then?”

“I told the bloody thing to eff off, obviously.”

If someone had told Draco, even just a week ago, that he’d wake up the residents of The Burrow at six-thirty AM, Christmas Day, because he was laughing with Charlie Weasley, he would’ve had them admitted to Saint Mungo’s on grounds of insanity.

***

The rest of the morning slipped by with ease. Draco stayed out of the way as much as possible, helping where he was needed but otherwise just minding his own business. He was quite content to just sit in the garden most of the time. He and Charlie levitated the table and chairs out of the kitchen and he conjured some blue flames to float around the garden and provide some warmth.

Harry, Hermione, and Ginny were all sat in the living room, laughing at a story Ron was telling. Draco could tell that, at least in Ginny’s case, the smiles didn’t quite reach their eyes. He was standing just inside the backdoor, watching the chaos of Christmas Day at The Burrow play out before him; Mr Weasley doing his best to help but mainly just getting in the way; Percy standing at attention, ready for anything that got thrown at him; Charlie stealing bits of food when his mother wasn’t looking. The dragon tamer kept glancing at the stairs worriedly, and Draco realised that George hadn’t yet come downstairs.

Mrs Weasley was frantic but precise. She had a schedule, and she was sticking to it, the problem was that her children didn’t seem to realise. 

“Bill, dear, I know you miss Fleur but get your head out of the floo and start chopping some carrots, I can only keep control of so much! Percy, will you go and make sure Ginny isn’t rattling the presents? And that Ron isn’t encouraging her; we don’t need a repeat of ’87.” Percy nodded and swiftly ran into the living room, eager to help his mother. Bill still had his head stuck in the fireplace, green flames dancing around him, that is until Charlie reached in and yanked him out by the collar. The eldest Weasley children ended up on clean-up duty for starting a brawl in the kitchen. Mrs Weasley turned to the stairs, walked up a couple of steps, then shouted, “Fred, George, food is almost ready!”

The whole house plunged into silence.

Mrs Weasley’s lip trembled, her eyes wide and already glistening with tears. Unsurprisingly, Mr Weasley was the first to move, wrapping his wife in his arms and guiding her down the stairs and into the living room. Bill and Charlie followed after their parents, exchanging sad glances.

Draco turned the heat down on the stove, stopping one of the many pots of vegetables from boiling over. He cast a quick charm over all the food, making sure it kept cooking, or warm if it was done already, but not to the point of burning, and then looked around the kitchen, wondering what to do.

A creak from the stairs caught his attention. George was stood on the last step, staring at him. He tried to offer a reassuring smile, but he suspected that even if it hadn’t come out as a grimace the middle Weasley would still feel uncomfortable.

“They’re in there.” He nodded towards the living room. George looked at him blankly for a second longer before moving. As he slipped into the other room, Draco looked past him to see Harry and Hermione getting up to leave. They joined him in the kitchen and as the living room door clicked shut once more, the three of them silently made their way out into the garden.

The long table from the kitchen had been extended both with magic and with an extra garden table found amongst Mr Weasley’s hoard of items. They sat around the garden table, and Draco didn’t fail to see how surreal the whole situation was.

“I can’t believe I’m actually here.” He said, more to himself than the other two.

“I can’t either.” Hermione said, not unkindly but there was an edge to her voice. Harry hummed in agreement, looking a bit zoned out.

“Where are your parents?” Draco asked, “I thought I heard Mr Weasley mention them yesterday.”

Hermione stiffened slightly, “They were only here to drop me off.”

“You don’t want to spend Christmas with them?”

The guarded look in Hermione’s eyes shifted slightly to one of sorrow. “They- they don’t quite get it. Everything that’s happened. I couldn’t have a normal Christmas this year. They understood that, at least.”

Draco nodded. He was surprised at her honesty, but he certainly appreciated the straight-forward answer. He didn’t blame people for not trusting him, but it had started to become rather tedious.

“Why didn’t you visit your father, Draco?” Harry’s question came out of nowhere; a slap to the face, a bludger to the gut.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s just, he’s alive, y’know? After everything that’s happened, I just thought… I don’t know-”

“That I’d finally stop being selfish?” Draco asked with a small smile to show that he wasn’t offended. Harry nodded and sat back in his seat, waiting for Draco to explain. Draco sighed; he couldn’t expect them to trust him if he didn’t trust them, “I used to worship the ground he walked on. I thought he was brilliant; his intelligence unmatched, his love for me and mother untouchable. But things changed. He proved himself to be… a coward. Don’t get me wrong, he still loves mother and I, and he claims everything he did was for us but… no, there are certain things, inexcusable things, that he did only for himself. Mother has forgiven him; she’d done so before he’d even done wrong. But I can’t. Not yet anyway.”

There was a long pause in the conversation, Harry and Hermione having some sort of conversation with just their eyes.

“Take it from someone who doesn’t have their parents – who _never_ had their parents – and from someone who just got their parents back,” Harry started, gesturing between himself and Hermione (which, _what?_ _Where had Granger’s parents gone?_ ), “keep fighting for him.”

Draco nodded. He was going to anyway, of course. A Malfoy never turned away from family. But he needed space, he needed time. He needed to confront himself before he confronted his father.

The semi-comfortable silence that had settled was broken by the backdoor opening and heavy footsteps heading toward them.

“Alright,” Two strong hands came to rest on Draco’s shoulders, he glanced up at Charlie, shocked that anyone but Luna would dare get that close to him, “We’ve had our little family moment, help us get the food out. And you-” He leaned down so his head was next to Draco’s then nodded toward the hill behind The Burrow, “Luna’s coming down the hill with her father, go help her out mate.”

Draco looked, and sure enough, there were two brightly-dressed figures making their way down the hill. He stood up, nodding his thanks to Charlie who just winked at him and retreated backwards into the kitchen, barely dodging Percy who was somehow carrying four gravy boats without magic.

Xenophilius Lovegood reminded Draco of his own father. They were both tall, had long white hair, and clearly loved their families. Even the look in Xenophilius’ eyes mirrored the one in Lucius’ the last time Draco had seen his father. There was fear, caution, confusion. The difference was that when Xenophilius looked at Luna it slipped into trust; when Lucius had looked at Draco it just seemed to burn brighter.

Draco met them at the bottom of the hill, still quite a walk from The Burrow's garden, his long legs carrying him quicker than the Lovegood’s. Luna smiled at him sweetly but didn’t hug him like the day before or even reach out to squeeze his hand. He felt ashamed that he missed her warmth. Instead, her arm stayed firmly wrapped around her father’s guiding him across the field carefully. Xenophilius didn’t seem to realise Draco had even joined them until he spoke.

“Mr Lovegood, sir, it’s great to finally meet you. Luna talks about you all the time.” Draco said, extending a hand for the older man to shake. Mr Lovegood stared at it.

“Malfoy.” Mr Lovegood said, no emotion in his voice. Draco dropped his hand, his skin feeling like it was being cut one thousand times over. He had been kidding himself. It was obvious that Luna’s father would hate him. Why did he think otherwise? Why did he _hope_ otherwise?

“Daddy,” Luna said, brining Mr Lovegood’s attention back to her. His demeanour changed in an instant, a smile blossoming over his face. Luna glanced at Draco before smiling back at her father, “This is Draco.”

Mr Lovegood looked around confused before his eyes settled on Draco, “Ah! My boy, a pleasure, a pleasure!”

Draco felt like his arm was going to be tugged off with how vigorously Mr Lovegood placed both his hands around one of Draco’s and shook. Draco looked at Luna in confusion, but the Ravenclaw was staring at her father with a sad smile.

Suddenly Mr Lovegood leapt half a foot in the air, glancing around wildly. He let go of Draco’s hand only to grab the lapels of his coat and pull him close, freeing himself from Luna’s grip as he did so. She sighed and attempted to pull her father off of him.

“You’re looking after her, aren’t you boy? Treating her well?” Draco could only nod, too shocked to do anything else. When Mr Lovegood spoke again it turned Draco’s blood to ice. “My poor plum, that dungeon must be so cold this time of year… You best give her more blankets, you hear? And she’ll need-”

“Daddy,” Luna spoke up again, finally pulling his hands free from Draco’s coat. She wrapped them gently in her own, as if her father had a _handle with care_ sticker on him, “I’m right here. Are you looking forward to Christmas lunch with the Weasley’s?”

Draco stood dumbfounded as Luna pulled her father along to the Weasley’s garden, the older man already rambling on about Brussel sprouts and figgy pudding. He hurried to catch up with them, wondering what the hell just happened.

***

Despite Mr Lovegood’s jumpiness and the thinly-veiled sombre mood of the Weasley’s, lunch was smooth-sailing. No one spilled any gravy or threw any peas, no arguments broke out, and no more tears were shed. Draco wouldn’t necessarily say it was the happiest table he’d ever sat at, but the garden still echoed with the occasional laugh and conversation kept a steady pace.

Conversation that Draco couldn’t quite participate in.

He tried his hardest. When Mrs Weasley asked him questions, he would reply politely and he even helped Charlie tease Ginny about Harry for a short while, but in the back of his mind, all he could think of was what Mr Lovegood had said.

There was only one thing the man could have been referring to. The time that Luna spent at Malfoy Manor during the war. A solid weight settled in his stomach when he realised that he had never actually talked to Luna about it. He’d thought of it often, at the start of the school year. He’d wondered how she could stand to be around him knowing what his family, his choices, put her through. But she had been so nice to him, so caring and patient, that slowly those thoughts, those doubts, had disappeared. Maybe not all the time – they certainly reared their head at inconvenient moments – but enough that he’d never considered bringing up the past again. He decided that he’d have to do it then - before he could chicken out.

Luna was wrapping her scarf around her neck (a smaller, blue one this time with gold stars that twinkled with magic) when Draco approached her after lunch. The sky was starting to darken, and Mr Lovegood was getting more and more jittery as the sun disappeared behind the hill. Luna smiled at Draco, glancing at her father who was seemingly talking to a plant, before reaching out and squeezing his hand. He squeezed back once, then let it drop.

“Luna-” Draco cut himself off when her smile dimmed at the tone of his voice. She took her coat off the back of her chair and slipped it on in silence, taking her time doing up the buttons. He waited until she had nothing left to distract herself with then said, “What your father said earlier, I-”

“Draco, please, not today. I need to get Daddy home.” Luna interrupted him, a sad look in her eyes but determination in her voice. Normally he’d back-off, not wanting to upset her, but he couldn’t leave it unsaid.

“Luna, we have to talk about it at some point.” He spoke softly but not without conviction. She looked up at him with her wide eyes but for the first time ever he couldn’t tell what she was feeling. She was completely guarded, and he hated it. Despised it more than anything in the world; more than himself and the choices he had made. Luna Lovegood was not made for apathy. Draco reached out a hand and gripped her elbow gently. “Please, we-”

“You off Luna?” Charlie’s voice pierced their little bubble as he made his way over. Luna looked grateful for the interruption.

“Yes, Daddy needs some rest. We enjoyed the meal very much, thank you for having us.” She smiled at him, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes and Draco hated knowing it was because of him. Charlie glanced between them, sensing the tension.

“Right…” He said, drawing out the vowel, “Well, I just came to say goodbye.” He looked at Draco questioningly, but the blond kept his eyes on Luna, hoping that she’d stick around for them to talk.

But it seemed she was determined to keep the distraction, “It was lovely to see you, Charlie.” She gave him a quick side-hug. “You go back to Romania soon, right?”

“Yeah, sooner than I’d like. The portkey leaves at six.” Charlie glanced at the muggle watch he was wearing and sighed. Draco had no idea what the time was, but he suspected it was nearing the dragon tamer’s time of departure.

“It was nice that you could stay for a little while though.” Luna said softly, obviously thinking of how the Weasley’s needed to come together for this holiday, so soon after a loss. Draco was struck with the sudden thought that it should have just been the family, but he pushed it away; they invited him, which they wouldn’t have done if they wanted to be alone. They were nice people, but not _that_ nice. At least, not to a Malfoy.

“Yeah, that does bring me to the other reason I came over though.” He turned properly to Draco then and before the Slytherin had the chance to pause the conversation Luna had slipped away. He watched as she gently guided her father away from the rose bushes and waved goodbye to the rest of the party. “-tonight?”

“Sorry, what was that?” Draco asked with a shake of his head. He hadn’t heard a word of what Charlie had said.

Charlie chuckled slightly and patted him on the back. “Mum was wondering if you were staying over again tonight. You’ll have to have my bed because Percy’s staying for a few days now.”

Draco didn’t entertain the thoughts that flittered through his head at that. Instead, he shrugged, genuinely not knowing what he was going to do. He could stay, of course. In fact, he probably _should_. It was rather late, and Mr Weasley was rather… merry. He wouldn’t be able to drive Draco home and the Manor wasn’t connected to the floo network anymore nor was Draco allowed to Apparate by himself. He was sort of stuck at The Burrow until the morning whether he wanted to be or not. Part of him wished he followed Luna up the hill.

His choice was made for him, however, as every member of the party turned to watch a glistening silver light scurry along the field behind The Burrow and stop in front of Draco.

His mother’s Patronus – a ferret, much to Ron’s delight – spoke softly but with fear and caution, “My darling, where are you? Please come home.”

Draco felt dread pool in his stomach. He thought his mother wouldn’t be home until the next afternoon, she’d obviously cut her visit short and was now at the Manor alone. He blinked and the ferret dissipated.

“Guess you’ll be going home then.” Charlie said quietly from beside Draco. The blond looked around the garden, noting that the rest of the Weasley’s plus Harry and Hermione had all politely carried on with their conversations, taking apart the outdoor set-up as they went. Draco moved out of the way of Percy levitating a stack of chairs. He walked over to the garden wall and leaned against it. Charlie joined him after grabbing his bag from the kitchen.

“Is your stuff all together?” The dragon tamer asked, dumping his own bag at Draco’s feet between them. Draco nodded; everything that came out of his bag had gone right back in as soon as he was done with it. “Great, I’ll take you home.” At Draco’s raised eyebrow the redhead elaborated, “You can’t Apparate by yourself, can you? Rules of your…probation, or whatever they called it. The only other person here who’d be willing to do side-along Apparation with you currently has her tongue down the Chosen One’s throat and I have to get going anyway. Just makes sense.”

Draco nodded again. He swiped his hand through the air and within moments his bag was floating toward them, almost hitting Ron as it passed him. Charlie wandered over to his other family members, saying goodbye to each of them and being almost crushed by his mother in a hug.

“Weasley!” Draco called as he put his coat on, then remembered there were seven people in the garden he could have been talking to. “Ron, I mean.” He tilted his head in a _come here_ gesture and Ron reluctantly walked over.

“What?”

“Tell your mother I said thank you for the hospitality.” Ron’s eyebrows shot up across his forehead and Draco held back a snicker. “And tell your sister to write to me when she’s finished eating Potter’s face.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me, it’s so gross.” Ron said, screwing his nose up. There was humour in his voice though, and his eyes, and that time Draco didn’t suppress the small laugh. Ron’s eyebrows climbed impossibly higher.

“See you at school, Ronald.” Draco said, slinging his bag over his shoulder before turning to Charlie, who had finally made his way back to the garden wall, nodding his consent for them to leave. He spared one last glance back up the hill toward where Luna lived, hoping that he hadn’t ruined whatever it was that they had. (Because he wasn’t stupid, he knew there was _something_ – something more than friendship – he just didn’t know if he deserved it, didn't know if he was ready for it).

There was a tight grip on his arm and suddenly the world before him was shifting. The green of the Weasley’s garden and the blue warmth of the conjured flames twisted and turned and morphed until they were nothing but a memory, replaced by wrought iron and a bitter wind.

Charlie let out a low whistle as he stared past the gate and towards the Manor, “You really do come from old money don’t ya?”

Draco nodded once. He didn’t move, just stood staring at the long path lined with tall hedges. The guilt from earlier came back ten-fold as he thought about his mother all alone in the cold Manor. He stepped toward the gate-

“Hey, uh, Draco,” Charlie called suddenly. Draco startled, for some reason thinking that the dragon tamer had already left. He turned expectantly to see Charlie grinning at him, “If Luna ever really does go looney and decides you’re not worth it; I hear Romania is a pretty good place for a dragon to hide out.”

Before Draco could respond there was a loud _CRACK_ and Charlie Weasley had disappeared.

He turned back to his house, pictured his mother staring out the window of the empty study waiting anxiously for her only son walk down the path. His heart constricted and his stomach swirled, and he’d never felt more guilty in his life. He had left his mother alone on Christmas – it didn’t matter that he thought she’d be gone; his guilt was still immense – and he left her to spend time with the _Weasley’s_ no less. For the first time in his life, he wished the seemingly never-ending path up to the Manor was longer.

A few steps away from the door it swung open to reveal his mother standing with her arms crossed across her chest. He stopped walking. The tone of the Patronus was _nothing_ like the look on Narcissa’s face. The ferret had been worried, scared even, and sad. As Draco looked at his mother, framed in the doorway of the Manor like a painting at Hogwarts, he could only see one emotion on her face.

Anger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ship Draco and Charlie, can you tell? Oops. Don't worry though, this fic is staying purely Draco/Luna.
> 
> I might dabble with Draco/Charlie or even Draco/Luna/Charlie in a short fic once this one is over (I don't even know when that will be ugh) lmk if that's something you'd be interested in!
> 
> Comments are VERY much appreciated. Like, pls, I wrote thirteen thousand words for you guys in the space of like a week pls (I am not ashamed to be begging lmao)


	11. Death and Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco receives some news that makes him return to Hogwarts early.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for this chapter (contains mild spoilers) in the end notes!!
> 
> This chapter is much shorter than the previous one but not every chapter can be thirteen thousand words long and I'm suffering from vertigo right now so you're lucky you're getting this anyway LMAOOO
> 
> I really appreciate you guys, thanks for the continued support <3

“This is a time for _family,_ and you were _where_?” Narcissa screeched as the door to the study closed behind her.

“At the Weasley’s, with Luna Lovegood,” Draco repeated for the third time, opting for the armchair closest to the window – his mother’s chair. “You wanted me to make friends; I did so, and they invited me.”

“You didn’t tell me you were going.”

“I really don’t see why this is such an issue, Mother. I was doing as you told me-”

“It is _Christmas_ , Draco! _A time for family_!” Narcissa hissed. Draco sighed and stood. He made his way over to the mirror, desperate for something other than his Mother’s angry disappointment to look at.

“Yes, you mentioned that. But you were with father – did you really expect me to stay here by myself?” His skin was slightly darker than it had been in August – a sign of all those times wandering the castle grounds with Luna, he suspects. The bags under his eyes were no lighter though. In fact, the two in combination somehow managed to make him look more tired if that were even possible.

“Of course not, I-”

“You what?” Draco shifted so that he could look at his Mother in the mirror. She was stood by the fireplace, wringing her hands together, and despite him interrupting her she no longer looked angry. Sad, mournful even, but not angry. That scared Draco more than anything. He turned, pretending that it didn’t feel like his heart was about to burst from his chest and jump out the window. “I would have been completely _alone,_ Mother.”

“And whose fault would that have been?” Narcissa snapped, her eyes mirroring the flames that danced behind her. Draco squared his shoulders.

“I don’t regret giving Blinky that glove.”

“That’s not what I meant, Draco.” Narcissa suddenly lost all tension in her body, her face morphing back to one pulled entirely downward. She stumbled over to the armchair closest to the fireplace and fell into it with a soft sigh. Her hair came loose from its updo and she covered her mouth as if to whimper.

“Mother?” Draco moved as if to stand by her side and comfort her, but she held her other hand up to stop him. She slowly removed her hand from her mouth, shaking her head.

“You could have come with me, Draco. He wanted to see you.”

Draco scoffed, “Well-” but he cut himself off. Harry’s voice rang in his ears: _keep fighting for him_.

_Take it from someone who doesn’t have parents… keep fighting for him._

“When could we visit again?”

It was an innocent question, one that Draco had expected to be met with an eye roll and a small rant about the Ministry watching their every move. He hadn’t expected tears to spring into his Mother’s eyes or for her to let out a bone-chilling cry.

“Mother?” This time Draco did rush forward, kneeling before Narcissa with worry embedding itself into his bones. “Mother, what’s happened?”

She shook her head, her cries too loud, too aggressive, to allow for words. Dread pooled in Draco’s stomach and his brain felt cloudy. He distantly felt his arms wrap around her.

“No,” he whispered, “no, Mother, surely not? No.” Draco shook his head, squeezed her tighter. “Did you at least get to see him before-” She nodded, sobbing into his shoulder. “How did this- I mean, why weren’t we told that he-”

Narcissa’s sobs, though they never ended, seemed to start afresh, drenching the shoulder of Draco’s jumper. He stiffened, his blood feeling like ice in his veins.

She’d known.

His father had been dying – is now _dead_ – and she knew it was happening. And she hadn’t told him.

“Mother,” Draco started quietly, his voice steady despite his racing mind, “Mother, why didn’t you tell me?”

Narcissa shook her head again, buried her face deeper into Draco’s shoulder. He pushed at her, forcing her to look into his eyes.

“Mother.” He sounded cold; sounded like his father. His dead father.

Narcissa took a shuddering breath and sniffed, attempting to regain composure, “I didn’t believe it, my love. I didn’t _want_ to believe it.”

“You still should have told me!” Draco stood up suddenly and took several steps away, trying to calm himself. He wandered over to his father’s desk (– can a dead man own a desk?) and leaned against it, head bowed. Quieter, almost a whisper, he repeated, “You should have told me.”

“Draco, I-”

He shook his head - he didn’t want to hear it.

“I’m going back to Hogwarts early.” He said, turning back around and heading for the door. “I’ll write soon but until then don’t contact me.”

“Draco, please,” Narcissa let out a sob, “you’re all I have now.”

He looked down at his hand where it was resting on the door handle, saw the red of the fire bouncing off of the ring he’d taken to wearing again. He brought his hand up to inspect the ring, feeling as though all the air in the room had been sucked out. He heard his mother try to stop a gasp from escaping her as he slowly took the ring off.

“Aunt Andromeda recently lost her child. Contact her. Grieve together.” Draco said quietly, urgently, wishing beyond all else that his mother did the one thing she’d always wanted and reached out to her sister.

Narcissa didn’t react, still trying to keep her cries at bay and eyeing up the ring balanced on the edge of Draco’s fingertip.

“I don’t hate you mother, but I need some time. I _will_ write.” He opened the door. “Us Black’s have to stick together.”

He flicked his thumb, and the ring made no sound as the fire consumed it.

***

Almost every single student and teacher at Hogwarts had gone home for the holidays. When Draco had written to Professor McGonagall, briefly explaining the situation, and requesting he be allowed back early, he’d expected to return to at least half a house worth of students scattered around the castle, but it appeared that the first major holiday after a war and people were eager to be with their families. He ignored the Cornish Pixies that were clawing at his insides and set to unpacking his bag – by hand because sometimes the body needed to do things to get the mind to shut up.

As he was folding the scarf Luna had gifted him, he noticed a small pouch in the bottom of his trunk. He put the scarf down, running his hand along it absentmindedly before picking up the pouch. While the pouch itself was clear, there was a scrap piece of parchment inside that hid its contents, though Draco vaguely remembered what was in it. He poured the seeds onto the scarf and took out the piece of parchment. His own writing stared back at him, but it was his mother’s instructions that read:

_One seed in a vase with exactly an inch of water.  
Put it on bedside table.  
Only grows at night – feeds off of nightmares – allows a person to sleep soundly and protects them from darkness.   
Replace the flower each week._

Draco had stopped using the flower after just five days; the nightmares hadn’t improved in any way and based on the research he’d done (it was a nightmare in and of itself trying to figure out the name of the plant) it was meant to work straight away. He’d just accepted that his memories – because that’s what his nightmares were; memories of all the awful things he had done and all the abhorrent things he had failed to stop – were too evil for even a magical plant to deal with. He thought he’d thrown the seeds out but perhaps Dinkly had seen them and decided he needed them – house elves were remarkably perceptive in that way.

He carefully placed the seeds back into the pouch as well as the piece of parchment. He didn’t need them – his nightmares hadn’t gone entirely, he doubted they ever would, but they had eased enough that he could get at least one full night sleep a week – but he knew someone who might find them useful.

***

“Has he woken up at all?” Draco asked Madam Pomfrey as he placed the vase on the table beside Tom’s bed.

“Not even for half a second,” She replied, shaking her head in dismay. Her voice was hoarse like she hadn’t spoken in a week. She’d stayed in the castle, just as she had done every year, to look after the students who became ill over the holidays, but all the students had gone home, and Draco realised with a shock that she’d really only had a sleeping Tom to keep her company.

“Did you have a nice break, Madam Pomfrey?” He asked, sitting on his chair by the bed. He was aiming for kind but landed on awkward and stilted instead. She smiled almost fondly, which didn’t surprise Draco as much as it would have done in September and busied herself by plumping Tom’s pillows.

“It was just fine, Mr Malfoy.” She made to return to her office but aborted the movement halfway through. He didn't bother to correct her about his name; not entirely sure of the change himself just yet. “I heard about your father.”

Draco focused on pulling a thread at his knee, “Don’t bother offering condolences, I know you didn’t like him.”

“Not in recent years, no,” Madam Pomfrey agreed, but instead of leaving it at that she sat on the edge of Tom’s bed, hands folded in her lap, “but I knew him when he was your age and younger. He wasn’t the kindest child, but he cared fiercely about those he loved. I lost track of how many times I had to kick him out of here when one of his friends had been injured.”

Draco cleared his throat, but the lump wouldn’t disappear. “It’s a Slytherin thing.” He croaked out.

“No, it is a _Malfoy_ thing. I could list one hundred Slytherins that didn’t care about anyone but themselves, but every Malfoy I have ever met – whether they were born one or became one through marriage – would lay down their lives before a loved one was hurt.”

Draco nodded; she wasn’t wrong, after all. He would have done anything to protect Pansy, but she would have – and did, on many occasions – thrown him under the bus at the first sign of trouble.

“I am sorry for _your_ loss, Mr Malfoy.” Madam Pomfrey said matter-of-factly, and Draco willed his eyes to keep his cheeks dry. “Now then,” Madam Pomfrey stood up, “I have a proposition for you.”

“What’s that?” Draco asked, thankful for the change in conversation.

“Quidditch season will be well and truly underway once the students return next week, which means I’m going to have more patients than I have hours in a day.” She levelled him with a look as if to say, ‘you know what I mean because you used to be one of those patients and you were a handful’. It didn’t feel like a proper chiding and Draco had to supress a small grin. “How would you like to be an apprentice?”

Draco’s eyes almost popped out of his skull as he sat up straighter in the chair and said, “A what?”

“An apprentice. You can help with the younger students; the ones I won’t have time for while I’m mending broken bones. You clearly have an aptitude for healing, and I don’t want that talent to be wasted behind a desk job for the rest of your life. So, an apprenticeship, here, alongside your studies.”

“I…” Draco hadn’t expected that. He’d never considered it before, but he supposed he did always gravitate toward the books on healing and medicine in the Manor’s study and he’d always been good at potions. He’d need to work on his bedside manner though… “What does the Headmistress think?”

“My boy,” Madam Pomfrey said with an exasperated smile, “it was her idea.”

***

There was no one else in the castle beside Madam Pomfrey, Draco, Professor McGonagall, and Tom. Every other student and member of staff had somewhere – _someone_ – to go to for the holidays. This meant that Draco had nowhere else to be but in the seat beside Tom’s bed.

He and Madam Pomfrey spoke about the apprenticeship and what it would entail until it was time for dinner, at which point the witch gave Tom a quick look over before making Draco promise he would eat at some point and then leaving for her own meal.

Draco summoned a textbook from his dorm – grateful that he could do so and not run the risk of it hitting a random student in the face – and settled into the chair to study silently for the coming term, his eyelids heavy.

***

_Draco had never seen such tall grass in his life. Or trees, for that matter. Or such giant ants… The world hadn’t become bigger, he realised slowly, he had become smaller. But how? And why was he outside? The last he remembered he had been in the infirmary getting a head-start on the Transfiguration reading._

_He stepped forward – wait, no, he had no feet, no legs. He was sliding along the ground like a snake. Had he transfigured himself into a snake by accident? He couldn’t see how but-_

_A scream came from his right and he caught a quick glimpse of a young girl with dark hair pointing at him, fear in her deep-set eyes, before a man brought up something shiny and suddenly his world exploded with light._

_He was seeing everything from above. The body of a snake, sliced in two, laying between the young girl and the man whose axe was raised again, ready to keep chopping. A pile of wood was behind them, next to a tent. The girl was crying loudly, and it caught the attention of a woman with a small, rounded stomach inside the tent. The woman made her way over, stumbling slightly on the uneven ground of the forest and wincing at each step, her swollen ankles making it difficult to move fast._

_The woman started to comfort the child, and Draco could tell they were mother and daughter, the man the father. But he didn’t learn much else before he was suddenly wrapped in warmth. In darkness. He could hear two heartbeats as well as muffled crying and it felt like he was underwater. In fact, he was definitely in some sort of fluid. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t he-_

***

Draco launched himself out of his chair, the transfiguration book falling to the floor with a loud CLUNK, his breathing laboured. He looked around wildly, confirming to himself that he was safe and at Hogwarts and _breathing_ and _alive_. As he calmed down and settled back into the chair, he noticed, with growing dread in the pit of his stomach, that the vase on the table beside Tom’s bed had a fully-blossomed flower in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings (lmk if you think I should add any more!) :  
> Death of a parent w/ mildly apathetic reaction.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading; I'd really appreciate feedback on this chapter - the responses to the last one were amazing!
> 
> If you didn't know, I wrote a mini (okay, 7500 words long) fic focused on Draco and Charlie. It's completely separate from this fic but I'd love it if you checked it out! ((I also more recently posted a long High School Musical fic if you're interested in that lmao))
> 
> Thanks again <3


End file.
